A one time thing
by Ky03elk
Summary: If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.
1. Chapter 1

**.**

**A one time thing**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

.

* * *

The club pulsates around her. Too many bodies squeeze into a space that's too small, but she doesn't care; tonight is about donning a mask and shedding the shackles that normally bind her. The thump coming through the dance floor vibrates up the heels of her stilettos, the crush of sweaty skin becomes an adhesive film as she slams against those next to her, and the sharp bite of the alcohol burns as it travels the length of her throat.

Together it all tangles, activating every nerve ending, bring her to life. She is alive. New York is safe. And that's all that matters - at least for tonight.

Raising her arms above her head, she surrenders herself to the music, lets it dictate her actions rather than attempting to control what is happening, and as those around her follow suit she can't help but laugh.

This is not her. This is not something she does. But recent events are weighing on her shoulders and she's determined that tonight is about being anything – any_one_ - other thanDetective Beckett. Tonight she is just Kate, out for a good time and willing to go with the flow.

Tomorrow life will return to normal.

A pair of hands drift across her silk covered hips, and she spins into the movement, preparing to break the fingers of whichever idiot was stupid enough to touch her. But her graceful pivot morphs into a clumsy jerk as his breath grazes her cheek.

"Sorry." The apology tumbles from the stranger, his hands already lifting from her body, but as she straightens, her reprimand dies on her tongue. He's pressing the backs of both hands to his chest, pushing the well-fitted jacket aside to reveal the hint of a red shirt, and all ten fingers spread in surrender. Remorse marks his features; his wide mouth drawing downwards in a frown, his forehead creasing in concern, but it's his eyes that capture her complete attention. Bright blue, they're piercing, except, as his gaze drills a hole straight through her – he appears almost… _unaware_.

"It's okay." She reassures as she curves toward him. Whatever he was doing, it all appears to be innocent enough and she's happy to let it go.

The corner of his mouth elevates, barely a stir, and she encourages him with a smile of her own. Yet surprisingly, his face falls, the frown returning, and she can't help but inquire, "Are you okay?"

Nodding, his entire body shifts, and even though he is at an angle to her left, their bodies are close enough that, as each muscle contracts within his tall frame, he erects a barrier that separates them, a cloak that he wraps himself in. She may have only just met him, but his move is a familiar one – one that she'd perfected long ago. Her current mask has been firmly in place since Josh announced that their relationship was over. That he was heading to Africa. That he was leaving her for something better.

"Yeah. I'm fine." There's a pretentiousness that slides into place, a performance to the way his gaze gradually falls down her body, an exaggeration to his smirk as his tongue licks his lips. She would normally write those kinds of actions off as a cocky playboy out and about, looking for a quick fuck, but the detective in her whispers its doubts.

Ignoring the fact he's presenting a façade – ignoring her own façade, for that matter - she eases a hand through her hair, shaking loose her brown curls. Having gotten his attention, she pushes her body against his, her mouth finding its way to the outer line of his ear and she asks, "Do you want to get us some drinks?"

She's not Detective Beckett tonight and she didn't come out looking for a mystery to solve, but at least with this truly sexy specimen of a man she has found a way to silence her own troubles.

* * *

Drifting backward, she slides down his body, the hem of her blue dress catching on the rough of his jeans. His gaze drops and he brushes aside the devil on his shoulder, the one telling him to insert his hands between the silk material and her skin so he can assist its progression higher.

He didn't come here tonight looking for this type of distraction – the liquid kind is enough – but with one simple question, the heat in her voice has engulfed him. And why should he bother fighting it?

Keeping the arrogant grin firmly on his face, he slides a hand low on her hip, and indicates for her to head to the bar. The way she struts before him, holding her body strong and straight against the crowd has him stalling, his curiosity sparked. What could she possibly do between the hours of nine to five that would instil within her such self-confidence? A predator disguised as a gazelle, she moves with purpose radiating from her. There are still men stupid enough to shift closer - standing in her way - but without a second glance, she leaves them in her wake, and if he doesn't follow soon, he's going to be joining those poor, pitiful souls.

Stretching his stride, he covers the distance between them, his body stopping abruptly with hers as they reach the bar, but rather than go around, he instead brackets her hips with his own. Urging her into the hard edge of the counter, he winds both arms around her waist, resting them against the wood, protecting her from the rim.

Well, if anyone asks, that's what he'll tell them.

Leaning over her shoulder, he calls out to the barely legal bartender that they'll have two tequila shots, and she startles inside his arms. Not reacting, he pretends that her body didn't stiffen against his, that her head didn't dip forward, and instead searches for a way to distract her while they wait for their drinks to be delivered.

Deliberately dragging one of his arms out of the enclosed space that he encouraged her into, he gradually relocates his hand, freeing it so that he can retrieve the money from the front pocket of his jeans.

There's a huff that leaves her body, a fraction of a second where her body sags before straightening, her head lifting as she arches back onto his shoulder and he slams the bills onto the bar hard enough to sting the skin of his palm.

He's got no doubt whatsoever that tonight – for him – is all about hiding from reality for a few blessed hours. But her actions are leaving a trail of clues that are leading him to the conclusion – he's not the only one running from demons.

* * *

"Have you got the lime and salt?"

He asks the question clearly, but the way his lips open and close so near to hers, the way that she could just slant herself forward and trap his mouth with her own, makes listening a difficult thing to do.

She must remain silent for too long - his right eyebrow raises, and nodding stupidly, she gathers the items between both palms, following him as he walks through the crowd. The people in front of him part automatically, taking steps to get out of his way, and it's oddly familiar. Not him, but the movement, the self-assurance that those before him won't stay there for too long.

She's watched Espo and Ryan do the same thing at crime scenes, or more often than not, when they head inside their favorite bakery. The purpose that surrounds them is a tangible wave that people react to accordingly. There is no doubt this man has the same ability - but why do they have this in common?

The boys – if they were here – would be throwing theories around, CIA and FBI, an alphabet soup of possibilities. Well, Ryan would be throwing the acronyms around; Espo would merely laugh at the ideas until his partner pouted, arms crossed, arguing that anything was possible.

They would be at their own homes now, reaffirming life with their respective partners, which is how she came to be here - alone. She's partnerless, both at home and at work, although the latter is due to change tomorrow.

God help her, and whichever jackass they pair her with.

Latching her eyes on the round ass before her - the way his jeans sculpt his rear perfectly - has her squeezing the saltshaker and lime slices harder than necessary and the citrus spills between her fingertips. She relaxes her grip; this will only be half as fun if there's no tang at the end.

His body drops into the corner of a booth - its previous occupants already edging out the other side - and he scoots toward the middle of the U, their drinks now situated in the center of the small table.

Still standing, her eyes rake over his long limbs, the way his thigh muscles strain the denim and she makes a conscious effort not to destroy the lime in her hand any more than she already has. Continuing her perusal, her gaze stutters on his biceps, her hands itching to touch, but she forges on, takes in his arms as he stretches them horizontally along the back of the seat, coarse fingers flex invitingly. If he held her against the wall, could he support her in her entirety? Hold her tight while he-

Closing her eyes, the next move is all hers. Where she places her body in relation to his will say a lot about where tonight goes.

The heat from his eyes ignites her frozen veins, melting the ice that formed when she was inside the freezer - trapped. The cold had seeped into her bones, stealing her consciousness, yet it's not fear that's echoing, but her friend's wise words. "We're gonna die, and I never took the chances that I should've."

It doesn't matter that Javier was talking about Lanie; it applies here just as much.

She is free to walk away in the morning, go back to her regular life. Tonight - tonight she can be warm; she can celebrate life, no questions asked, in the _best _possible way.

Emptying her hands, she sits and angles her body into the space next to him. A knee hard into his thigh, a crooked elbow squeezing between the upper edge of the seat and his extended arm, her head coming to rest in her palm. Her position allows her hair to fall from where her neck concaves, exposing a long strip of skin, and she gradually releases a smirk. There is purpose to her actions and as his eyes catch on her naked flesh, a corresponding smirk cracks his features - she's succeeded.

Yet as he reaches for the salt, fingers toying with its lid, he pauses, staring intently at the grains, and she swallows her own uncertainty, attempts to get his focus back.

"So, do you live around here? Or…?"

With her top teeth, she drags the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth, her eyes closing at her own stupidity.

* * *

"You want to swap small talk?"

His reply is harsh. Not what he meant at all. It's just her question is bringing back to the surface everything that he's been trying to push down.

Home. Life. Living.

None of them are words he indulges in anymore. The hotel he is currently residing in is testimony to that, as is the new position he is starting tomorrow. It all paints a less than pretty picture. No matter the number of years he's been running, he's yet to find a reason to stop.

Thankfully she shakes her head, freeing more curls, revealing more neck, and his blood boils eagerly; a flash of white teeth appear as she gnaws on her bottom lip – and he's a goner.

The way she's angled into him provides a sufficient amount of space for him to plant a fist between her knees, and, pushing down on the seat's cushion, he lifts himself. Not meeting her gaze, he instead concentrates on the delicious arch of her neck, and bending forward he runs his tongue up until he reaches the lobe of her ear. He probably shouldn't, but his teeth trap the loose flesh, nipping quickly before drawing back to line the moisture with salt.

Starting at the bottom of his trail, he slows down to such a degree that the rock of her body, the way her thighs contract against his arm, becomes even more pronounced. The background noise dissolves, everyone disappearing until there is just him and her, and this moment. It's nothing big, not even the first time that he has been here, and yet, somehow… There is more here than there should be. There's an everything to what they are doing.

Leaving her ear unscathed this time, he reaches for the table, drowning the shot before holding the lime between them. Against his better judgment he looks at her, simultaneously drowning in the depths of her soul. If he were still a writer he could easily spend the rest of his life describing the expressions that are dancing across her face.

Taking the slice from his fingers, she maintains eye contact – it's almost a challenge now – and bringing it to her lips, she pushes the lime's rind into her mouth. And damn - if his heart hadn't stopped beating long ago he would most certainly be dead from her actions.

Without warning though, she spits it out, delicately holds it between two fingers and uncertainty washes over him. If she backs away from where they are heading, he'll respect and understand, but the disappointment will crush him, let alone the hours he'll be spending under a cold shower.

"Your name?" She huffs, eyes rolling adorably, and she clarifies, "I don't need your life story. But…?" Her shrug completes her sentence and he grins, a genuine smile at the way she nervously fidgets after having asked.

"It's Rick."

"Hi... I'm Kate."

* * *

to be continued...

* * *

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie, for the beta and for the talking me off the ledge I so often find myself on, especially with this one xoxo

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Thank you for reading

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	2. Chapter 2

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Two - What's in a name?**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Kate's hand slides across the fitted sheet and under the pillow as she buries her head further into it. Although, unfortunately, its softness doesn't help block out the thud inside her head, the constant noise of her own heart beating. This is why she doesn't drink to excess - the aftermath that descended overnight leaves her defenses weakened.

Last night.

Jerking upright, she squints; her head thrashing left, then right in confusion, a hand lifting to smother the groan of misery as the thud becomes an almighty chorus band.

Tequila. Lots of tequila.

She holds her liquor well, but somehow curled up in the booth, one drink turned into… a lot more than one. Necks were abandoned for chests, and, rather than place the slices between their teeth, at some point it simply made more sense to suck the juice so the other person could drink it straight from their lips. It was amazingly _enjoyable_ to savor the tang when it was sampled off his tongue.

Rick.

Twisting in the bed, Kate stares down at the naked man sprawled face first, fast asleep. Swallowing hard, she resists the urge to drift a hand over his perfectly formed ass, ignores the shiver breaking across her skin, the throb that has her forcing her aching thighs together. Instead, pulling her gaze away, she takes in the oddly expensive hotel room where she's spent the night.

One night - one night that is over.

Dropping both feet to the floor, she stands, wobbles, and sinks back to the mattress. It's going to be a slow exit out of here if she can't get her legs to work. Not that they'd been much use to her last night either.

Together they'd stumbled and tripped over each other, arm in arm along the street, fleeting caresses morphing into frantic kisses.

Standing again, this time successfully, she manages three whole steps before there's a rustle of sheets behind her, and she freezes in place, closing her eyes.

Stay asleep. He just needs to stay asleep long enough for her to leave.

"I'm guessing round four isn't about to happen?"

Squeezing her eyelids tighter, she pushes aside the reminder of rounds one, two, and three - the way he'd held her in the parking lot, his mouth firm against her own, their tongues fighting for dominance as their hands had pushed past social boundaries and become indecent.

Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she scurries back to the bed, snatching the closet pillow to use as a shield. It's a rather futile attempt to hide her severe lack of clothing but it's all she has. Round one may have been against the hotel door, hard and fast as the city lights streamed in through the partially opened curtains; hard and fast and- Fuck.

He'd used the strength in his arms to easily hold her high, his fingers curled into the skin of her rear, and it was everything that she had envisioned while admiring him inside the club. Her legs had wrapped tightly around his hips, while her fingers darted down his body, past the shirt that remained buttoned, hiding precious skin she was dying to get her hands on. As she'd reached his jeans, her damp underwear slid against the skin of her hands, and she'd moaned, loudly, almost finishing before they'd even begun. Finally though – _frantically _– they'd managed to get skin against skin, coming together in a frenzy of misplaced kisses and grunts that had echoed throughout the entrance way.

All that and they'd still remain completely dressed.

The rest of the night had been spent in the dark, against the bedroom wall – slower yet just as earth shattering - before they'd fallen into bed for one last exploration of skin over skin, and she blushes. They'd managed to lose all their clothes by the time they'd finished, falling asleep in an exhausted tangle of sweat slickened limbs.

"I…" How did one politely inquire about her clothing, while also making a graceful exit?

"That was amazing," he breathes, rising so he can sit, eyes wide. Surprise is written all over his face and she lifts an eyebrow. Was she supposed to be something other than good?

Drawing her already bruised lip into her mouth, she takes a step backward - she _cannot_ act on what every insane part of her is pleading to do. She will not throw the pillow aside, will not climb back into bed, will not use her teeth and her tongue to wipe that bewildered expression off his face.

Today is a new day and she should already be on her way to work.

"I need to go."

"What?"

Bending, she snatches her panties off the floor with her free hand, refusing to let go of the pillow as she looks around for her dress, the very picture of inelegance.

"I have to get to work."

* * *

Rick lets her back away. It's not like this was ever going to be anything more than one night. His keening _want_ takes him by surprise though. Not the physical want – after last night it's no surprise that he never wants to leave this hotel room again, as long as she's here with him – but the want for her number – that shocks him. He wants her number, wants to ask her to stay. Ask for anything that will have her stopping what she is doing.

There's so much skin glistening in the morning light, and he bunches his hand in the sheets, a fist forming. He will not reach out for her, will not drag her back into bed so he can bury himself in the sentience that she has become. Last night he had felt... alive. His skin had stirred under her touch, his heart had hammered as it awoke for the first time in so many years.

_He'd slipped his hands between the silk of her dress and her thigh, and he'd slowly made his way higher and higher until he was cupping her rear over the lace of her panties. Panties that were getting in the way... he'd shifted so that he was touching her and..._

But he doesn't need this in his life. Doesn't need a reason to care. And she's not the only one who is supposed to be on their way to work.

But as she bends again, pulling her dress into her arms, the image before him becomes too consuming and his eyes shut as he swallows the words fighting to escape between his firmly closed lips.

Stay.

There are still an infinite number of nuances he has yet to discover. The places on her skin that are more sensitive than others. Where is the best place to run his tongue along to guarantee a shudder courses through her body? How hard can he bite before pleasure becomes pain? And would she care if he crossed that line?

Don't leave.

His eyes snap open, concern creasing his forehead. The words echo so clearly in his head – did he speak them aloud? If he did, she's ignoring them.

Backing into the connecting bathroom, the only thing she pays attention to is the material of her dress, the blue flashing as it captures the sunlight streaming in through the window. It's like sparkling water cascading down an embankment. Just like her. Slipping away.

Pushing back the sheet, he goes in search for his own clothes. He doesn't need to witness her departure. Needs to let her go before he does something stupid. Before he starts to care. Again.

* * *

The elevator doors open, exposing the bullpen and its too many inhabitants. The hands on the clock sailed past eight while she was still in the cab, and despite Kate's steady glare at her father's watch, time continued to rush by.

She's late which means showing up to work in a cocktail dress and jacket. Regardless of how much she pulls the two lapels together there's no way of being subtle. But, all she needs to do is scurry across to the stairs, and up another flight to the lockers where her spare outfit resides, and she'll be able to place her detective mask on. Push aside Kate, push aside last night. Easy.

She manages to get a third of the way to safety when a low whistle slides across the room, and her hurried rhythm falters.

"Well, well. Is there a new dress code? Or are you doing a walk of shame?" A teasing intonation threads its way through Esposito's questions and her eyes roll. Pivoting, she stands tall, stares down her nose at him, but he doesn't react. He holds her eye contact even as the bustle around them increases. They're at an impasse - one she will not break no matter how many second glances her outfit is earning her.

He caves first - as if he had any other option - and laughing, his head nods toward Montgomery's office.

"He's already in. And on the warpath. Your new partner's not here yet, and Montgomery thinks you've run him off already."

Her eyes roll once more, this time in exasperation. There is no reason that she requires a partner. She's never needed one before. But she's had that argument with her captain - numerous times - all for naught.

"I'm going. Cover me."

Making her way across the rest of the distance, she climbs the stairs as quickly as one can while in a short dress and heels. The whole process not helped by her panties, which remain damp from last night, and she curses Rick. Curses herself. Even with the shower she had in haste this morning, he still clings to her lips, to her skin, to her clothes; no opportunity to go home to change first means she is paying the price.

She was supposed to be able to leave him and everything that was last night at the hotel door - now every step is a smack to her senses. Every rub of her thighs is a reminder of what he did to her, just how far he had brought her to the edge and beyond, all while still fully clothed.

Throwing open the locker room's door, she's already peeling away the evidence. Balling the blue material in her hands, she discards it next to her disintegrating sneakers. It can lay there forgotten, along with her panties. Along with him.

It's a new day.

Shrugging on the white collared shirt, the tailored tan suit, she breathes in slowly, attempts to regulate the beat of her heart as it continues to pick up its pace - because of him.

Relax. Let him go.

As she steps over to the mirror to fix her hair - a comb through will have to do - she glares at the image. The professional woman staring back at her hides the tremor of uncertainty, the doubt that the new day has brought to her actions.

She should never have gone out drinking, no matter how bad the week had been. She'd allowed the circumstances to pile up on her. She'd mourned her own loss of human contact as Lanie embraced Javier after their escape from the freezer. She'd listened as Jenny had called Kevin, over and over, just to ensure he was okay, to remind him he had someone to keep fighting for. His fiancée's intentions had worked after all; Ryan's declaration in front of the bomb as he pulled out the bundle of wires, was proof enough. "I won't stop fighting for our beginning."

Turning away from her image, she charges head first toward her day. She's never needed anyone before - and nothing has changed.

* * *

Straightening his leather jacket, he stands tall within the elevator while contracting the muscles in his right hand to stop the tapping before it can occur. He's not nervous. He's started in enough new places for that to be well and truly stamped out of his system. But he is running late - having had to wait for the shower - and this is not exactly the first impression he should be making.

"You new?"

Eyeing the man next to him, Rick nods, before returning to stare at the closed doors.

"Well considering the floor you're heading for, I'll wish you luck."

Turning again, Rick raises an eyebrow. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"Word going around is that someone was due to start today. And lets just say you might not find any open arms of welcome."

Shit. Nothing like a pissing match over territory to start the day. Of course, his day started with Kate, so maybe nothing was going to top that.

"Thanks for the heads up."

The doors retract as the ding alerts the floor to their arrival and Rick follows the man out. He gives him cover to assess his new environment, to rapidly take in the action around him as he walks along the corridor. He's sure as hell not stopping to ask for directions. He can find-

Oh.

Shit.

* * *

Taking the papers from Ryan's hand - because really how hard is it to use a stapler? - Kate shakes her head, her lips turning up in a smirk.

"But I tried that and it wouldn't work." He huffs from her left and angling her head, she pushes the pieces of metal together – succeeding on the first go.

"Really? I can see how that could be difficul-"

"Beckett?"

The arrival of the elevator draws her attention automatically, a quick scan that became habit long ago, but it's not the opening doors that have her ending her sentence mid-word.

It's the hair that she had gripped as he held her high against the wall, his mouth latched onto her neck.

It's the broad shoulders that have her nail marks imprinted into his skin, as she'd encouraged his head to travel lower.

It's the blue in his eyes that had looked at her this morning; and for a fraction of a moment they had pleaded with her not to leave.

He strolls down the corridor like he belongs, an easy stride and she tries to swallow the fury that rises in her throat. He's somehow tracked her down. Most likely went through her purse while she was in the shower, and now he's showed up here to – what?

But, as his mouth drops open, eyes wide, he alters his path, begins to head toward her and doubt coats her anger. He seems confused. Seems just as surprised as she is.

"Kate?"

"Rick?"

* * *

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Thank you to Jo for reading a hundred times and for all the red! and Jamie for the flails and the help last night! xoxo

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Thank you to those that followed, pressed favourite and most certainly to all that reviewed xoxo

And thank you for reading!

.

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	3. Chapter 3 - your imagination

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Three - Your imagination**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

.

Happy birthday to Ky, thank you for your friendship and support xoxo Here is some MOAR!

.

* * *

"Kate?"

"Rick?"

"Do you two know each other?" Ryan interjects, and Beckett's head shakes violently in reply.

"No."

"Yes."

Both Rick and Ryan angle toward her, matching expressions of confusion drawing their respective eyebrows together, and she attempts to clarify, to get their story straight.

"We met. In passing. It was…" she stumbles. She can't quite get the 'nothing' she wants to say to clear her lips. She can't do that to him. Can't lie to herself either. Whatever last night was – it wasn't nothing.

"Anyway, Rick, what are you doing here?"

"Me? What are _you_ doing here?"

His attention wanders around the bullpen, as hers drifts down his body – _damn_. His leather jacket highlights the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. His jeans, similar to the ones she'd peeled from his body earlier today, wrap perfectly around his long limbs, and his badge nestles into his belt, just as her own does.

_What?_

Reaching for the object as it catches the light from overhead, her fingers push against the hard muscle of his stomach, and, plucking it free, she holds it between them.

"You're a-"

"Beckett!" Montgomery's reprimand cuts off the end of her exclamation, and all three detectives turn as one to watch his approach. "What is going on here?"

Her mouth opens, but any answer dissolves, because, really, what explanation can she give without revealing the truth?

"Detective Rick Castle, I presume?" Montgomery asks, letting her inability to reply go – at least for the moment – and Rick nods, lifting a hand. Both men shake, and she takes advantage of their greeting, concentrates on controlling her breathing, on slowing down the rapid tempo of her heartbeat.

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, this is Detective Kevin Ryan," their Captain introduces his team as more hand shaking takes place, "and this is Detective Kate Beckett."

Transferring Rick's badge into her left hand, she extends her arm, and familiar fingers wrap around her own. His thumb ghosts across her knuckles, rising and falling over each indent as he moves slowly. He stops at the top of her hand, begins drawing circles across her skin, and it crosses the unspoken line that should be between them – this is not okay.

Jerking backward, her eyes flutter as her control shatters. His actions are far too intimate for public, are awakening everything that she's forced dormant. His hands on her last night had pushed hard, and soft, and a hundred degrees in between as he'd taken her to the brink, again and again, and she _cannot_ let him touch her right now.

"Beckett. A word, thank you." Spinning, Montgomery heads to his office and she's left with no option but to trail behind, the pink flush of her skin no doubt a neon flashing light of embarrassment to everyone who glances in her direction.

By the time she walks into her Captain's office he is sitting behind his desk and he waves a hand indicating that she should close the door. She does so, before sinking into the closet available chair. Squeezing her fingers together, her eyes fall as she inspects the badge she still holds in her hands. Her thumb runs over the numbers at the bottom of the shield – it's just like hers.

"How many times have you argued against having a partner? And how many times have I sat in this chair and refuted every one of those reasons?"

She shrugs in response. They both know the answer. Too many to count.

"And is there a reason why Castle isn't suitable as the partner you're now required to have?"

Shaking her head, her lips remain closed on the lie. There are three very good reasons why he shouldn't be her partner. The door, the wall and the bed. There could have been four if she had just given into temptation this morning and crawled back under the sheets.

"Then I expect you to treat him with the same respect, the same courtesy that you show the other members of your team. Is that understood?"

Lifting her stare from Castle's badge, she nods. The painful crash of emotions - the fact that two ships passing in the night have now become _this_ – are best left unsaid, but nodding again, she agrees.

"Look," Montgomery's voice softens, a smile dancing playfully on his lips, "I've seen his file. He's a good cop. Has a lot in common with you. Drive, passion, a reason to fight the battles. I'm not asking you to marry the guy, Beckett. Just give him a fair go. Be his partner."

* * *

Watching through the window, Rick's fingers curl around his belt, reaching for the badge that is absent from its normal resting place. Instead, it sits in Kate's hands, her thumb caressing it, sliding back and forth over the numbers that identify him within the NYPD. Her shoulders slump forward, her mouth dropping at the corners as she shakes her head.

He's done this - done something inexcusable in her eyes. Is it the fact that he is now her partner, one who is unwelcome according to the gossip in the elevator? Or is it because it's _him_? Someone she clearly didn't expect to see again – clearly doesn't want to see again.

"So, how do you know Beckett?"

Dragging his eyes away from her, he focuses on Ryan, inspects the man who stares up at him, arms entwined not so loosely across his chest. He's young, younger than Kate going by his baby face. Irish heritage leeches through the pale skin and blue eyes - that and Kevin's name backs up his theory.

He also has a relationship with Beckett, judging by the pointed glare.

"I don't. Not really. I met Kate once. Just once."

It was only ever supposed to be a one time thing. But now-

The office door opens with more force than necessary and half a dozen eyes turn to watch Kate as she exits. Not that it appears to worry her in any way. Taking long strides, she crosses to them, her hand reaching for his elbow before she withdraws it suddenly, contact never occurring, and he holds onto the groan of disappointment.

It may have only be hours since she last touched him, but his skin is already mourning her loss.

"Follow me."

Her progress through the room doesn't slow, and it seems as though she could care less if he does indeed trail after her or not. But she can't hide the blanche of her fingers as they enclose his badge. The way her free hand rises, the corner of her thumb finding its way between her teeth. She's nervous. Nervous that he won't come?

Yanking the door to what appears to be an interrogation room, her head dips as she waits for him to enter first, avoiding his eye contact as he observes her. It's completely accidental that the back of his hand slides across her skin, that his arm travels into her personal space, grazing the buttons of her white collared shirt.

Where in the world is the silk blue dress from last night? Unless she lives really close by, there's no way she didn't come straight from his hotel room to work.

Strolling, slowly, over to the table that's situated in the middle of the room, he perches himself on the edge, both hands loosely wrapping around its rim, and he stops. Stops and stares. The ball is firmly in her court now.

"Castle?"

Humming an affirmative, he continues to remain still. He's spent more than his fair share of hours in rooms just like this one. He's not about to break.

"Rick Castle?"

Repeating his earlier noise, his only other movement is to incline his head to the left as he attempts to get a read on her. She's not flustered, no longer angry, she almost appears curious and his back straightens. Surely not…

"Have you worked around here before? Your name sounds-"

Bolting upright, he stalks toward her, ignores the panic churning in his stomach. The same panic that is clogging his throat, and, as he reaches Kate, he pushes his large frame into hers, causing her to stumble back into the door behind.

"Why did you tell Ryan that we didn't know each other?"

He turns the tables - half expects to be faced with one pissed off Beckett. Not that that's a worry, because at least then she might forget her earlier question. And if his button pushing doesn't work, he can always use his hands to divert her attention.

The idea of her elevated high inside his arms, her suit pants dangling from her ankles, as his hands, his fingers, bring her to oblivion is more than just a little appealing.

"Because we don't. And whatever you're thinking right now– stop." Placing both of her palms onto his chest, she shoves and he relaxes into the movement, steps back easily.

"Last night, Rick. _Castle_. It didn't happen. We had one too many tequila shots and our imaginations made up the rest. Do you understand?"

He shouldn't be surprised, definitely shouldn't be hurt by her statement, but it slices through him regardless. He's not seeking out a happily ever after. Doesn't need someone to rely on, or for him to be that to someone else. But… still.

"I understand completely, _Beckett_."

If that's the way she wants this to play out, then he can shove what has happened back into the box where he keeps everything else. His skin doesn't need her touch. His heart doesn't need her lo-

He doesn't need anything. From anyone.

"Good."

* * *

"This is the break room. Don't drink the coffee unless your stomach is lined with iron. I'd also be careful about what is growing in the fridge." Beckett's hand waves in the general direction of the appliance and he nods accordingly.

He's managed to play the role of the interested new guy rather well for the last ten minutes as his tour guide droned on. _Here's interrogation room one, here are the bathrooms, here's where you file your completed forms, here's the murder board_. Seriously, the urge to shake her until Kate spills forth over took hold about nine minutes ago, but he can't - so he won't.

"Yo."

The greeting - apparently _that_ was a greeting - comes from another detective positioned in the second doorway, and moving automatically, Castle offers a hand to shake. Only he's met with arms crossed and a glare that would melt the polar caps, and, inwardly he groans.

Here's the pissing contest he's been expecting since the elevator.

"Espo." Beckett's scolding, a well-placed hiss and a pop, has him biting the inside of his cheek, god forbid he smiles at the man before him. He's clearly military from his stance, the buzz cut, and the shield that rests where dog tags must have sat and Castle remains neutral - he likes his face the way it is.

"I hear you're the new guy on our team?"

Withdrawing his hand, Rick relocates it to his front pocket, and nods before answering with a simple, "Yeah."

"Beckett's new partner."

Espo makes the statement, his gaze flickering across the room, his body leaning in her direction – a big brother stance? Or something more? Whatever it is, it puts to shame the display of protectiveness that Ryan had toyed with.

"You been with the force long?"

Damn. Two questions in and the detective is already hitting a little too close to home. Or what was once home.

"Long enough."

Turning his back on Espo, Castle strolls over to where Beckett is resting on the edge of the counter, places himself so that the sleeve of his jacket brushes her own. And sure enough, the detective opposite him takes two steps closer, the scowl on his face deepening.

"Rumor has it that you've been in and out of half a dozen precincts."

It's hard to settle down when there is no such thing as home. Hard to find a place to put down roots when your past keeps catching up to you.

"I go where I'm needed."

His answer earns him a snort of disgust as Espo replies, "And you think you're needed here?"

Tilting his head toward Kate – _Beckett_ - Rick studies her profile, the way her eyes half close, the corner of her bottom lip as it's dragged inside the confinement of her mouth. He may not be needed, but he'd place money on the fact that he is at least wanted.

"I'm sure I can be of service."

There's no mistaking the flush of blood as it surges within her skin, her head dipping further allowing a screen of curls to descend, hiding her from his words. And from the truth.

Apparently not at all impressed with his answers, Espo exits the room in a huff, and, despite the voice in his head pleading for him to keep quiet, he can't resist asking, "So. You and Espo, huh?"

He's not sure he wants to know.

Her head snaps up, eyes wide in what - at least to him - is horror and she squeaks adorably in protest. "No. Ugh. Javier is like a brother to me. Just – no."

Nodding, he smiles, happy to receive the vehement response.

"Not that it matters to you, Castle."

"Of course not. Just checking. You know, in case my imagination runs wild again."

Growling in reply, she pushes away from the counter, away from him, leaving the room muttering to herself and his smiles stretches.

Not a bad first day at all, all things considered. He's actually looking forward to tomorrow and to his first case.

* * *

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This plot bunny was formed after I came across this YouTube clip (take away the spaces) www. YouTube watch?v=BWSkDkr9z_Y (obviously couldn't spoil the start, lol) but thank you to the amazing cardiffgiant02 for creating the idea that had my mind wandering in all sorts of places (please pass on the thanks to her!).

As you will see my headcanon changed the roles and from this point on it's all my imaginations fault!

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Thank you to all that have added it as an alert and as a favourite!

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And to everyone that left beautiful words of support and encouragement, thank you so very much xoxo

and I am very sorry for not getting back to you in person over the weekend (I'm blaming the kids, reading, and writing two more chapters)

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As always thank you to Jo and Jamie for all their hard work and pompoms for this fic #love

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Four - Suspicions**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

"Morning, Beckett. Sleep well last night?" It's all said innocently enough as he leans against the side of her cruiser, but his heated gaze tells a different story. His eyes travel down her body, over the red cashmere sweater and the black jeans, which he's almost certain she sprayed on this morning, and flicking his tongue out, he wets his lips. Damn.

"Castle." Not even bothering to look up from the phone in her hand, she offers a clipped greeting and slams the driver's side door closed. It was a five am wake up call from dispatch and it appears that she has gotten out of the wrong side of bed this morning – not that he'll be pointing that out to her.

"So. What do we know about the case? It's a shady looking neighborhood. Maybe a gang lord? Oh, maybe it's a business man that came to the wrong side of this alley looking for trouble?" He wiggles an eyebrow, tries to engage her, but again he receives next to nothing as a reply.

"It's a case."

Well, of course it's a case; he's not here for the company. Well… maybe now that he has met the company he's here for that, too. But mainly it's for the cases, the need to find families the justice they deserve. No one should be left wondering what happened or be left with unanswered questions after losing a loved one.

It's an experience-

"Good morning, Kate."

The feminine voice that interrupts his train of thought has him turning in her direction, and he takes in the shorter woman as she exits a white van. Beaming smile, radiant features, and yet, apparently she's the medical examiner if the sign on the door is to be believed. Weird. In his experience, they're usually old, grumpy men that like to laugh at their own rather pathetic jokes.

"Morning, Lanie. What have you got for us?" Beckett replies with actual social grace and warm tones and his eyes widen. Why didn't he get that response? Oh. Right.

"No idea, Kate. I got stuck in road works, but the question should be, what have you got for me?!"

Coughing or laughing, maybe even a strange combination of the two, Beckett turns away from the triangle they've formed in the middle of the alleyway, and he would very much like to do the same. The stare that's slowly tracing the lines of his body is making him… _uncomfortable_. The good doctor's perusal lingers a little too long, and he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. He swears he put clothes on this morning.

Beckett, thankfully, rejoins their mini group, playfully poking the medical examiner's arm, as she smirks. "Don't feed the ego. This is Detective Rick Castle. Castle, this is Lanie Parish, our medical examiner."

Placing his most irresistible smile onto his lips, he extends a hand, shaking Lanie's. "Well the pleasure is all mine. And if you don't mind me saying, what a sight for sore eyes it is to see such a stunning medical examiner. Trust me when I say we had nothing even close to you on the other side of town."

Dipping her head forward, Lanie lets out a lighthearted giggle, before straightening, a devious sparkle glittering within her brown eyes. "I don't mind you saying, but-"

"Stand down, Castle, she's already taken." Beckett grumbles from beside them and he angles his head to take in his partner's expression. If didn't know better he'd almost say that there is a hint of jealousy in her tone.

Not that she has any reason to be. There's only one thing playing on loop in his head – he's done little else but review, rewind, and rewatch their night together since he'd woken up to her naked escape yesterday.

"I'm merely being polite, Beckett. I hear it's what people do when exchanging morning greetings."

Rolling her eyes, Kate detaches from them, begins making her way to the huddle further down, and his eyes _don't _remain fixated on her long limbs as she walks away, he _doesn't _envision himself crowding her from behind to see how the height difference could help or hinder them as they-

"If you want to make a better impression first thing in the morning you're going to need caffeine."

He closes his eyes, just for a fraction of a second so he can focus on Lanie. It's just incredibly hard to drag his eyes from Kate when they're open. "What makes you think I want to make a good impression on her?"

Lanie's answer is a rather un-lady like snort and a raised eyebrow. Apparently, he needs to work on his poker face if he has any chance of keeping Kate's – _Beckett's _– imposed 'we don't know each other and we sure as hell didn't have mind blowing sex all night' rule. It seems he's as easy to read as a book.

* * *

Ignoring the shiver that shudders its way down her spine, the sensation that informs her that someone is watching her walk away, that _he's_ watching her walk away, she switches gears – she's here for a reason.

"Ryan, what have you got for me?"

"It's not a good one, Beckett."

The sarcastic reply that there is no such thing as a 'good one' never sees the light of day as the words become a lump in her throat, her pointed stare catching sight of the body lying on the dirty concrete. Shit.

The strawberry blonde curls combine devastatingly with the bright red that had leached from her porcelain skin overnight. The head wound is large and mars what was once a beautifully innocent face - what is still a beautifully innocent face.

Lifting a hand to cover her mouth, she tries to remember how to swallow, how to breathe, how to not throw in the towel and walk away from just how horrific her job can be some days. She has no choice but to pull it together.

"Any identification on her, Ryan?"

His eyes met hers, the sorrow causing the normally clear blue to become cloudy, and his head lists slightly indicating no. Shit.

"So. Was I right? Drug lord or…"

Castle's cocky approach transforms into a stumble, and she stands – frozen – as the blood drains from his face. Tears form rapidly, resting on his lower eyelashes, his lips drawing together as an unseen agony steals the smile from his mouth. Both hands curl, fingers hidden as he forms fists at his side, his shoulders hunching protectively against an outside intrusion.

They've all had cases, bodies that stir a visceral response, but this, this cuts through him and slashes the air in between them, until the tentacles whip across her skin, opening her own flesh.

She can't move.

"Al…" It's a whisper, barely a sob that breaks his lips apart and finally, it creates a crack in her own.

"Castle."

Shattering his focus on the little girl, he wrenches his wounded eyes up to meet hers, and it's enough to penetrate the private torment that he's going through before her.

And just like that steel shutters descend between them. Lifting a hand, he scrubs it across his face, wipes away the pain, his expression replaced with a mask of indifference. His frame straightens, shoulders drawing back, hands falling to his side loosely and if she hadn't of been standing, watching the changes as they morphed inside him over the last thirty seconds, she would take the façade he is now presenting at face value.

But she was there – for all of it.

"Have you called in SVU? She looks young."

Her eyes widen at his neutral tone. She's an expert at pushing things far below the surface, but he may rival her – it's as if nothing had just happened, as if he hadn't reacted so – overwhelmingly - to their first case. There's a story there, and she closes her ears to the curiosity whispering its desire to know the whys.

"I'd say she's between ten and thirteen." Lanie has somehow passed by her unnoticed, and, bending over their victim, she reports her findings. "No signs of sexual assault."

Nodding alongside Castle, she pushes her own mask into place, concentrates on the case at hand, not the one that is rapidly gaining momentum in her mind.

She's not here to investigate her partner.

"I'll give them a courtesy call, Lanie, but for now we'll work the case as our own. She doesn't fit their parameters – not yet anyhow."

* * *

Standing over the bathroom's basin, Rick attempts to gain control of the threads that have been threatening to unravel since he saw their victim. It had been one hell of a quiet car ride back to the precinct and most definitely not how he wanted to start his new job.

Shutting his eyes, he hears the door opening to his left, and, quickly he rubs a hand over his face. He needs to get it together. He needs to handle this better or the understanding he saw gathering in Beckett's piercing stare is going to start fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

Speak of the devil.

"I wouldn't have guessed you'd be into quickies at the precinct. But I'm happy to oblige." Twisting in her direction, he throws in a smirk while leaning a hip onto the edge of the porcelain. The best defense is a good offense, and if the choice is between sharing his life story or _this_, he's sure as hell going to give his best game.

Sure enough her eyes roll, as she huffs in response. He's been cataloguing the different expressions that her face creates - the annoyed, the aroused, the hundred and one in between, and it's been the perfect distraction. She communicates so much with no words and he finds it an amazing contrast. As someone who - once upon a time - used to put so much into words, always seeking the perfect way to describe a situation, he finds it – her - enthralling.

"Are you alright to work this case?"

She locks her eyes with his, and it takes every ounce of strength he has not to flinch under her scrutiny, not to give away anything with his own expression. He doesn't need her concern, definitely doesn't need her pity.

"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Her mouth opens, the pink of her tongue tracing her lower lip, and he stalks across the six feet between them, lowers his mouth to her ear, while using his nose to nudge the curls away, granting himself better access.

"Unless you really are here for that quickie, Kate, I suggest you leave the men's bathroom."

His words earns him a well placed thump to his shoulder, but she turns, exits, and he pauses, closes his eyes as he attempts once more to regain his hold on to the persona of Detective Castle. He only just got here, is actually developing a reason to hang around this time - he can't screw this up. Not again.

"Castle." Beckett's head pokes back through the door and he opens his eyes, lifting an eyebrow in response.

"We got an ID, they're bringing in the father now."

* * *

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Thank you for making my heart thump hard with all your wonderful words xoxo

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And thank you to Jo (honeyandvodka) and Jamie (JamieWaskel) for their help and congratulations to both as they reached individual writing milestones this week xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	5. Breaking point

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Five - Breaking point**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Breathing deeply through his nose, Castle stands still as Beckett withdraws from the doorway and he appreciates the silence as he's left alone in the precinct's bathroom. He now has to face a father - a _grieving_ father - who has lost his child and he honestly has no idea how he is going to do this and hold it all together.

He hasn't in the past. This isn't the first time he's been in this situation. But again, he has no choice.

Following Beckett, he bypasses those milling around the corridor, cuts through the exchange of gossip, before coming to a stop next to his new partner.

"How'd we get an ID on the girl, Beckett?"

With her hand on the doorknob, she shrugs, one shoulder lifting as the material of her sweater shifts across her breasts. Not that he is in any way paying attention, it's just that a flash of black lace winks at him and he can fill in the blanks. Closing his eyes for a moment, he ignores the image. He's using her, using her to distract him from what he doesn't want to focus on, and, he swallows the guilt.

He's better than that. _She's_ better than that.

"Her photo went out to all the schools in the district, and we got lucky. Had a hit straight away."

He nods, grateful that something has gone their way this morning. Sometimes it's never that easy, sometimes there are days or weeks of combing through missing persons and that's if they get a hit at all.

"Espo and Ryan swung past on their way back from the crime scene. Picked up the father. He's waiting for us." Her head tilts toward the door, toward interrogation room one, and anger flares, his blood racing as it boils.

"Is this how you do things here? Pick up a father who's lost his child and treat him like a thug?" The curved ends of his nails dig sharply into his palm and his gaze drops at the sudden pain. His hands are in fists, skin taut over his knuckles, and he sucks in a breath, relaxes his muscles until they are again loose, both limbs hanging freely by his sides.

"No, Castle. It's not how we 'do things' around here. But the alcohol on his breath was enough to arouse suspicions, and, when asked if he knew where his daughter was, he shrugged."

Shit.

Raising his head, he stares into her eyes, his remorse falling heavily between them, and he nods.

"So how do you want to play this, Beckett?"

Her mouth lifts, just a small pull to the right, but she does smile, letting him off the hook – at least this time – for jumping to conclusions. "Let me do most of the talking. I know it's not your first time, but until we find our rhythm…"

Smiling innocently, he elevates an eyebrow. "Really? 'Cause I thought our rhythm was pretty damn perfect."

* * *

"Do you recall hearing a noise last night, Mr. Johnson? Anything that would indicate an intruder?" She asks calmly, and unfortunately, she's not surprised when his only response is a shake of his head.

"What time did you go to sleep?" Castle leans forward on the table, and she breathes heavily through her nose. It had taken less than three minutes according to her watch, before he started talking, and she would very much like to take her shoe to his shin. Except they actually do have a natural rhythm to their approach. They're working exceedingly well as partners – at work.

"I don't recall. It was late." The father has yet to make eye contact with either of them, has done nothing but stare at the dirt caught under his fingernails and it's raising all kinds of red flags.

It could be grief, everyone expresses it differently, but…

"Do you remember what time your daughter went to sleep?" Her voice remains steady despite his response. Another 'no' causes his overgrown fringe to swish from side to side across his forehead and beside her Castle's fingers extend, flexing across the surface of the table.

"So. You didn't put her to bed at a regular time? Didn't read her a book before tucking her in? Didn't at some point throughout your entire night together glance at a god damn clock to see what time it was?" The tension within the room crackles as Castle asks each question, his tone becoming as hard as steel and she reaches sideways under the table, placing a hand across the top of his thigh in warning.

"Mr. Johnson, I understand that things can get hectic in the evenings. Trying to get through it all and ready for the next day. But we need to establish a timeline of events so we can get justice for your daughter. For you."

His neck bends as his eyes meet hers for the first time since she'd entered the room with Castle. Beneath the tattered jacket his shoulders shrug, his indifference crystal clear.

Standing abruptly, Castle's chair screeches as it slides backward across the floor, and, propelling himself forward, he closes the distance between himself and what is supposed to be a grieving father. He slaps his palms against the table, his nose almost touching the now stunned Mr. Johnson.

"What did she do that left you so fucking uninterested? Did she talk too much about her day? About how wonderful life is? Did she ask for too much? Want dinner on the table? Clean clothes for school? Let me guess. The ungrateful little girl you _had_ to raise told you one too many times that she loved you. Despite the shit hole of an existence you created for her, she still had the gall to tell you that you were loved!" Both of Castle's hands smack down, hard, and Beckett startles in her chair, her attention focused solely on the coil that's become his body.

"SHE WOULDN'T STOP COMPLAINING!"

There's a pause, a moment of stunned silence before the suspect continues in a whisper, "I just wanted her to shut up."

Jerking her horrified stare from Castle and onto Mr. Johnson, her eyes widen at the words that have exited his mouth, his confession echoing in the interrogation room.

_How_…?

Castle's knee hits the hard surface of the table, his foot almost coming in contact with her head as he lunges across it. Arms outstretched, he continues to fall until his body slams into their suspect, fingers wrapping themselves around the man's throat.

Oh. Shit.

* * *

There are stars, shots of light that splinter the darkness as a result of squeezing his eyelids too tight. His chest heaves with shallow breaths, air entering and exiting in quick concession as Castle leans over the table, his face barely inches from Mr. Johnson.

He needs to hold it together. He _needs_ to hold it together.

"SHE WOULDN'T STOP COMPLAINING!"

His body shifts, a rapid uncoiling of muscles as he pitches himself forward. The sharp sting against his knees as they slam into the table's surface, the crack of his spine as his arms stretch forward are nothing compared to the chunks of his soul that this prick has hacked off with a single sentence.

Every one of his fingers digs themselves into the son of a bitch's throat creating ripples of skin and flesh, yet there is no satisfaction. It's not helping the hole in his heart that was made long ago, and he squeezes, harder. The movement adds to the already precarious situation and Mr. Johnson's chair tips backwards, taking both men with it and they crash as one to the floor – Castle's grip unwavering.

"Did she see it coming? Did she know that her father – the one man in her life who should've protected her – was going to take her life?"

His elbows bend as he lifts the asshole's head off the ground an inch before slamming back down.

"Castle. _Rick._"

Beckett's words sliver through the storm clouds gathering around him as her fingers grip the back of his shirt, tugging, pulling the material tight across his throat, and yet, he doesn't let go – he can't let go.

"Did she cry? Did she plead with her daddy to save her?" His pleas go unanswered, their victim's father only rasps a choked noise of pain in reply, and it does nothing to smother the fury raging through his every nerve ending. The need for answers is too strong.

* * *

"Espo! Ryan!" There's a shrill edge to her scream that she doesn't recognize as it comes from her own lips, but there's no one else in the room, just her and her panic. Her new partner is about to strangle their suspect and she hauls herself forward, again, tries with everything she has to pull Castle off, but to no avail.

She's experienced just how much power is confined within his biceps, how much strength his broad shoulders contain, and she has no chance of wrenching him off. But there has to be some way of getting through to him?

Scooting around so her body is hard against Rick's right side, she ignores the angry red painting Mr. Johnson's face, instead inserts a hand between the two males, her fingers blindly reaching for Castle's left ear. Tracing the hard edge of his jaw, she gravitates higher, traps the cartilage between her nails, and, twisting sharply, she attempts to turn his head toward her own.

It may be the pain of having his ear bent, or the fact that she is now so close to him, but without warning he snaps his head in her direction, his body startling, his fingers releasing their choke hold, and she uses the moment to drag him into her – away from the very nearly unconscious Mr. Johnson.

The sudden change in position has her toppling onto her back, pain rippling across her shoulders as she hits the floor, and even though her claw like fingers retract from Castle's ear, he still ends up on top of her.

His jaw smacks into her collarbone, before his head drops into the arch of her neck, his face buried within the strands of her hair. A sob begins low in his abdomen, a fluttering of muscles, and, as it travels up to his chest, her own body absorbs the shudder.

The door to the interrogation room flies open as Esposito and Ryan come barreling in and the sound of it hitting the wall engulfs any noise made from them on the floor. It provides the cover Castle requires to draw in a large gulp of air and she encourages him off her with an arm against his shoulder.

Attempting to sit up with one hand stretched behind her, she uses the other to tug at her sweater, which has ridden up in the debacle. The decent sized strip of skin is hidden once more and she propels herself forward until she is sitting tall, a rod for a spine – unflinching.

Both boys shift from foot to foot, eyebrows raised high, yet they remain framed inside the doorway – apparently unable to move into the room - and she takes advantage of their lack of progress. She searches for an explanation that would make sense of their current positions.

"Mr. Johnson fell backwards. We were… helping him up." Okay, so that doesn't justify the image that they are witnessing, doesn't explain why she was lying on the ground or why Castle is presently still hiding his face in her hair, body half covering her own. She lifts a hand to push Castle again, and he rocks backward enough to sit at her feet. Now free, she stands, glaring at Espo and Ryan, her meaning clear – don't say a word.

"Anyway, Mr. Johnson is ready to explain what happened last night so you guys are in charge of taking his statement." Nodding quickly, she shows the boys her silent appreciation for taking over, her gratitude softening the edges of her demands, and they exchange a hesitant look of understanding before nodding themselves.

As they pass Castle, Javier claps him on the back in understanding - she's seen him cross _that_ line in the past - before joining Kevin in hurling Johnson and the chair up in one fluid movement, returning everything to how it was.

Espo angles his head in her direction, eyes purposely flickering between her and Castle, and she reads his expression easily – go deal with her partner, they have her back. Curling her lips into the smallest of smiles, she wraps a hand around Castle's bicep, and, as she tugs, he stands slowly.

Confusion lines his features as he glances at the boys, before locking eyes with her, his mouth opening to speak and she cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head. They're a team and they look after each other. Whatever the reason for Castle's snap, they'll close ranks around him. He may only be new but he's one of them now.

Although, that also means it falls to her to chew his ass out for pulling such a stupid move.

A potentially case destroying move.

She huffs to herself as she exits the room, Castle, _hopefully, _following behind. This is going to be a challenging situation – a situation that's made more difficult due to their _previous_ personal relationship.

* * *

His head bounces into the wall behind him, as he looks anywhere but at Beckett, who is destroying the floor pacing back and forth. Three steps, pivot. Three steps, pivot. It's been close to five minutes of this silence as she apparently battles for the right words, and his mouth has open and closed over a dozen times as he's gone to justify what he did. How much he fucked up. Except he can't – he won't.

He doesn't share. Ever.

"Do you…" She pivots again as she speaks, and without moving his head from the wall he looks down at her through half closed eyelids - waits for the rest to come.

"What you did…" Her fingers tear through her hair, catching on the knots that have formed throughout the day, and his hand lifts, before common sense kicks in and he drops it listless to his side. The last thing he needs to do is run his fingers through her hair.

Well, the last thing he should have done was strangle their suspect but…

"You need to go home. Now." Finally stopping her manic moving to and fro, Kate comes to a stop before him, and all he can see is the pity in her eyes as she repeats her command. "You need to go home. I need to deal with this… _mess_."

Thrashing side to side in muted protest, he bites the inside of his cheek, refuses to plead with her to change her mind.

"I'm not asking if you want to, Castle. I'm telling you. Come back tomorrow when you have your head screwed on right and just hope in the meantime that you have a job to come back to." She stalks away from him, down the isolated corridor that she had brought them to, but at the last minute she looks over her shoulder to softly reaffirm, "Go home, Castle."

His head arches back, eyes focusing on the ceiling before he closes them in defeat. The whole reason for this entire shit storm - why he snapped in the first place - is that he can't. He can't 'go home'.

He remembers all too well what it is to have one.

He knows all too well what it is to try and survive without one.

* * *

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Thank you all for being amazing with your reviews, the support for this story is the most beautiful ray of sunshine xoxo

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Thank for to the ever beautiful Jo and Jamie, not just for the beta but for being there for me xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	6. an incomplete picture

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Six - An incomplete picture **

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

.

* * *

Kate's hand glides across the metal numbers on the door as she debates what the hell she is doing here. It's a bad idea. She should have just called, but the memory of Castle breaking; the way he had buried himself into her, his sobs racking both their bodies as they'd lain on the floor of the interrogation room, has cracked her resolve to leave well enough alone. Pieces of his mysterious puzzle have been falling into her fingers since they'd met and it's time to form a complete picture of her partner.

Curling her fingers into a fist, she knocks briskly against the wood with a confidence that she doesn't feel, and waits. And waits. She doesn't have a back-up plan if he's not here.

If he's out… at a club… drinking tequila with-

The hotel door opens, and that most certainly _isn't _a sigh of relief escaping past her lips, because it doesn't matter to her what Rick does in his free time. She has no claim on him. Doesn't want a claim on him.

_Liar_.

With a hand on the door's edge, his arm stretches across the gap as his body leans against the wall, and she takes the higher road, ignores the urge to roll her eyes at the very clear message he is sending.

_Go away_.

"How'd you find me- Oh, wait…" He smirks, the arrogant playboy that she first met coming through and she doesn't respond to the taunt, her gaze instead traveling the full length of his body. He's still in the suit he'd worn to work this morning, but at some point tonight he's discarded the tailored jacket. The sleeves of his collared shirt are now a third of the way up his arms and his beautiful skin awaits her touch.

No. Not her touch. Not anything.

"Beckett?" The hint of scotch drifts across the space between them and for a fraction of a second, her eyes close at the smell.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Why? Don't tell me you care, _Beckett_."

Dropping her stare, she focuses on her father's watch, its face a daily reminder of just what alcohol can do to someone who's grieving, and she refuses once again to rise to the bait. She's put enough of Castle's story together to be almost certain that he has lost someone at some point, and she can share that anguish all too well. But she doesn't know if she can stand here and watch him drink himself into oblivion in order to forget the past.

Going through that once was more than enough.

"Don't worry, detective. I'm only nursing my first."

Apparently he reads her silence correctly and she drags her eyes off her wrist, makes contact with him. She just needs to say what she came here to say and then leave - in one piece.

"Look, I just wanted to let you know that Johnson confessed. Without going into details about your strangulation attempt-"

"I hardly-"

"You had your fingers around his throat. While squeezing! What would you call it?"

Dropping both hands, his arms fall loosely to his side and he backs away from the door. His eyes stay on hers and she takes his actions as an invitation to come in, or at least to stop this rather private conversation from being public.

Entering, trepidation grips her stomach as she closes the door. Turning and fleeing would be easy, is something she has done before in her personal life, but as much as she is good at running down that path, she's also very tired of her reactions. Josh leaving was the last straw. It's made her brave. Made her question her own coping mechanisms.

"Why are you here? You could've just called."

He observes her face a little too intently and she pushes her shoulders back, stands taller. She will not squirm under his scrutiny.

"Why, Kate?"

The need to leave, _now_, creates a lump in her throat, and as she swallows it, the panic that's inching its way up her spine makes its presence felt, and she takes one step back as he takes two forward.

Maybe brave was too strong of a word. She's supposed to be the one asking questions here. Not him.

"There's more to what happened than just you getting angry at a suspect. It was personal."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?"

* * *

He has to make her stop. Has to get her mind off him and his life. Off the whys and the reasons and the because. He doesn't want to start their partnership on lies, but he can't tell her the truth. Bringing the words to life will make the nightmare he lives all too real.

Living through it once nearly destroyed him, changed his life forever.

Speaking about it is something that he has never done.

Taking three more steps, he pushes her into the door, his mouth finding hers, his hands tight around her thighs. If he can't ask her to stop talking he'll find another way to distract them both.

He'd promised himself that he wouldn't do this, use her in this way, but maybe it's less about using her and more about what it is to be in her arms, her mouth opening up to his.

It doesn't just silence the past, it stupidly makes him see the possibilities for a future.

Maybe that's even worse.

Lifting her higher, her toes lose contact with ground, and somehow this is even more amazing then the first time they'd been in this position. Without the haze of too much tequila, everything is sharper, brighter… more perfect.

He holds her aloft, her grip finding its way into his hair, her fingers raking painfully across his scalp, and he rocks his hips into hers. The separation is a strain to every part of him, the rebuff of far too many layers leaves him keening in disappointment, has him groaning into her mouth as he pitches into her once more.

Using the back of his knee as leverage, she digs one foot into the crevice, takes advantage of her purchase to hook her other leg up and around his hip and he would applaud her actions, but his fingers will never again depart from the curve of her ass. She fits so flawlessly in his hands, in his arms, in his life.

She drags her lips away from his, and he grunts at the loss. He doesn't want to stop, no matter how much this shouldn't be happening; a one time thing with Kate shouldn't be happening again, and it sure as hell shouldn't be happening with Beckett!

"Is this what you do? How you avoid what's really going on?"

Her questions have him jerking in her entwined limbs, and he shifts his hands off her rear, pushing down on her thighs, and giving her no choice but to stand ungracefully.

Snorting at the irritation, he snarls in response. "Pot meet kettle." He's not stupid, he's witnessed her shy away from more than one comment at the precinct. He's not the only one with a story.

It doesn't seem to ruffle her in the slightest though, one hand cupping his jaw, fingers grazing the stubble that lines the hard edge, and she whispers, "Tell me."

"You wouldn't understand."

No one understands.

Leaning into him again, her free hand fists the material of his shirt, and it takes all he has not to collapse into her arms. To remain unwavering despite the concern shining in her eyes.

"Try me."

His head shakes as he drops his chin to his chest and he pulls back. Is it concern he sees? Or just pity for the man that lost everything?

"No. No, I don't need your pity. Your _sympathy_." He reaches behind her, tugs the door into her body in a clear indication for her to leave and she steps around him with a huff.

"You're being an ass."

Shrugging, his stare stays on the ground while he holds the door open wide, ready for her exit. She's right, he is being an ass, but letting her see any other part of him isn't an option.

Walking through the gap he's created, she pauses on the threshold, and he doesn't dare move, god forbid he fall to his knees in apology.

"Maybe what you see isn't sympathy. Maybe it's empathy." And with that parting remark he hears her footsteps as she walks away.

Walks away from him.

* * *

Slamming her apartment door closed, Kate storms in the direction of her bathroom. She needs a shower, desperately needs a change of clothes after her… _interaction _with Rick. She should never have gone over there, should have listened to her head. Being in a room with him, alone, is just asking for trouble.

She needs to stop listening to her heart – and she definitely needs to stop listening to the arousal coursing through her veins. It whispers that this is more than some one time thing; seeing him - all the different sides to him - is breaking down her normally reserved approach.

With Josh, with Will, with all her past boyfriends, she has knowingly held them at arm's length; she's kept her secrets – hidden. She _likes_, likes with all her heart, but _loving_ leads to being open and exposed to too much pain. Her mom's death and her father's descent into the bottle cured any need to go down that road.

So she needs to forget. Forget what it is that calls to her so strongly. The way her skin comes alive under his. The way her body aches whenever they slide past each other. The way her heart-

Stop. Stop now.

He is just her partner. Just a work partner. Nothing more. Can never be anything more.

Entering her bedroom, she slumps onto the floor, her head pillowed by the mattress as his words echo in her mind, his anguish cracking the sentence apart. _"I don't need your pity. Your_ _sympathy."_

Except it's not pity. Not sympathy. Whomever has died – and someone in his life has died – was close to him and she understands that all too well. She doesn't look at him with those emotions glazing her expression. He was wrong there. Her soul bleeds for him because it's empathy. It's the knowledge of what it is to have lost a part of yourself.

God, she misses her mom.

Reaching under the bed, her fingers move through the dust, past the plastic containers that were shoved there to be forgotten, until they hit the hard lines of metal. She shouldn't be doing this right now, she should just go have a hot bath and read a good book. But Rick's eyes crash through what are good plans, relaxing plans. They haunt her, and they're not the only ones to do so.

She pulls the box out from its hiding place, turns the combination that is stiff from disuse, and, unlocking the lid, she purses her lips tightly, smothers the sob that crawls up the back of her throat, refuses to acknowledge the tears that are stinging her eyes.

The past was put behind her a long time ago. She can focus on the happy times. She can.

And maybe if she tells herself this enough she will come to accept it.

Lifting the sweater that lies on top of the belongings, she brings it to her nose, inhales deeply and while the scent of her mom leeched from the material years ago, when she closes her eyes, she can still smell her, can picture her as she hurried to get ready for their morning of ice skating.

God, she misses her.

Placing it to one side, her fingers fall on the silver necklace, her mother's ring capturing the light and reflecting it back in little rays that illuminate the inside of the box and a smile breaks free. She had placed it in here more than six months ago, when things with Josh had ended up in bed, and he had grumbled and carried on about it scratching him. The fear that she would misplace it if she constantly took it on and off while not at home had led her to tuck it away with a heavy heart, hiding it with the rest of her mom's things.

Josh is just another piece of her past, and sliding the necklace over her head, Kate returns it to where it should be. Beside her heart.

With one hand encircling her mother's wedding band, the other continues sorting through the memories; the concert tickets, the hand written notes, the last book her mom had read, the case file that she had not so secretly obtained. The shame and embarrassment that came with Montgomery calling her out still burns her cheeks. He had made her put the investigation aside, had threatened her job, and she is grateful, mostly. The hours of counseling at least got her to a point where she didn't need to look into it on her own as she had once planned.

She may still have walls that keep her from risking her heart, but the drive to find out the whys has dulled with each year that has passed.

Picking up the novel, she eyes the cover fondly. This had been a big part in changing her life. The way the characters had found justice for others had led her to become a cop. She had found the book half read, lying open on her mom's nightstand, and it couldn't stay that way. Her mom was a firm believer in finishing a book regardless of how good or bad it was. _"The words were written and they deserve to be read."_

Chuckling at her mother's tone, still crystal clear, Kate runs a finger across the almost forgotten title, past the cover art and to the bold lettering of the author's name.

Richard Castle.

_Holy. Shit. _

* * *

_._

The overwhelming response to this story has left me... speechless and on cloud nine as I happy dance around in a way that makes my kids groan.

Thank you, truly xoxo

.

All the hugs and kisses to Jo and Jamie and their patience when I suddenly announced that I needed it beta-d, _again_.

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	7. Broken hearts

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Seven - Broken hearts**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

.

* * *

Kate's standing outside his door for the second time in one night, and, really– is she insane? She should pretend that she never saw the book. That she didn't flip it over and scrutinize the small, grainy photo on the back. That she didn't stare at her partner's image- granted a much younger and more carefree version than the one she met this week.

But the questions that are nagging at her are only getting louder. The yelling inside her head is now a dull roar that won't be silenced, no matter how much she tells herself that this is probably going to well and truly blow up in her face.

Knocking quickly - before the raging war inside splits her head in half - she again waits. And waits.

Her nervousness is no doubt stretching her sense of time and she shifts from foot to foot to release the pent up energy. She will not start banging on the door like some thirteen year old trying to get the attention of her crush.

But then, what if he didn't hear the first one?

Huffing loudly at herself, the door swings open and Rick greets her with a raised eyebrow. Apparently he heard and his mouth widens as he grins.

"If you've come back to finish what we started, I'm gonna have to insist on a gag this time."

_Idiot_.

Narrowing her eyes, she glares down her nose, puts as much disdain as she can into one look. Not that she's against accessories per se, but no one shuts her up!

"I know who you are."

He moves to close the door and she shoves a foot in the rapidly tapering gap; wraps a hand around its edge. He can be a prick but he's not going to slam her fingers in the door- right?

The pressure evaporates from the other side and taking advantage of this, she opens it to enter. He's walking away from her, shoulders slumped, head drooped and it leaves her standing stupidly in the doorway. She's put this weight on him, by calling him on his past life and her bottom lip becomes trapped between her teeth as she worries it. Does her need for answers triumph over the pain this may cause?

Dropping to the sofa, both of his hands scrub the skin of his face, his head arching back into the cushions behind and she closes the door quietly.

She can do this. Handle him with care, just like any other grieving family member.

She can do this- and remain detached.

Approaching slowly, Kate crosses the room with caution; it's like walking toward a wounded animal. One wrong step and it's all going to go sideways. Sinking into the space next to him, she carefully leaves some air between, god forbid he startles, and breathing deeply she plays her trump card.

"You're Richard Castle."

And then there is nothing but silence. Minutes and minutes of awkward silence.

* * *

He forces himself not to react to her declaration, keeps breathing in and out. His eyes remain closed and while it is highly unlikely to work, his game plan is to just sit here and wait her out. Maybe at some point she will give in and go home?

Yeah. Right. Because everything that he's learnt about Kate Beckett in the last few days points to the fact that she's a quitter who is happy to walk away from a mystery. His snort of disbelief breaks the silence, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to see her quizzical glance; the heat from her eyes is burning holes into his flesh.

"You're not going to let this go, are you? Can't you just Google yourself an answer?"

Slanting sideways, his gaze falls heavily onto her and the worried lines that are furrowing her forehead adorably. He holds her stare as time stops moving around them, until, reaching forward, she slides her hand delicately over his wrist, her fingers caressing his before nudging them apart, interlocking them together.

If he had tears left, he would weep at the gentleness of her touch.

"I sat at my computer. Had half your name typed in. But then I thought, how would I feel if you went behind my back. Investigated me and my past and…"

Her hand squeezes his, a contraction of muscles that constricts every part of him all the way to his heart.

"What happened, Rick?"

Dropping his eyes – he can't watch her – he concentrates on the link that is between them, moves his thumb around in circles across the back of her hand. His actions become hypnotic, over and over, and as he speaks, he's not entirely sure that he is really talking out loud.

"I had it all. Fame. Fortune. A loving daughter. Home. Happiness. And then…"

The grief crawls like bile up his throat. His heart thumps against his ribs and he is positive that they are going to crack, splinter and shatter until the muscle breaks free from his body and lands in her lap for her to see just how destroyed it is. He is.

"She died?"

He attempts to nod, barely manages a twitch, when Kate's free hand cups the side of his face, her thumb sweeping across his cheek, catching a tear that escaped without notice, and he pulls back.

* * *

His head slides out of her grasp, and the wall that is about to descend between them, the wall she has witnessed before, is going to take him from her.

She can't let that happen.

She may hide behind her own every single day, but just maybe, tonight they can hide away together.

Lifting her leg up and over his, she straddles his thighs, pushes herself into him, hip to hip, chest to chest, and burying her head into the arch of his neck, she dots a single kiss to the skin below his ear before whispering her own secret.

"I was nineteen and one night- my Mom…"

Her left hand remains joined with his right, but using his other, he tangles his fingers into her hair, tugs her back firmly, and their distraught stares clash. His tongue peeks through his supple lips, wets his mouth, teeth flashing as he opens and closes, clearly at a loss for words, and she offers him her own.

"I'm sorry is such a useless thing to say. But-"

"If my heart could break anymore, it would for you, Kate."

She feels a tear form on her eyelashes, and his eyes dart down to watch it as her breath lodges itself in her lungs. This thing that is between them – Electrical? Chemical? Magical? – crackles, a tangible energy that suspends time while enhancing every fiber of her being, and if there was ever a time to move this would be it. To simply lean forward and say what her words can't.

That she doesn't have to imagine the loss. Doesn't have to pretend to understand what it is to have your heart broken beyond repair. That no one should ever have to go through what he has gone through, what she has gone through-

His mouth collides with hers, his tongue seeking entrance and she grants it, teeth nipping sharply as she joins him in pouring everything unsaid into one kiss. Bending her elbow, she shifts their joined hands, placing the fist they've created, into the V where her pelvis rocks into his.

A moan falls from his mouth, enters hers and it releases a shiver that cascades down the arch of her spine, leaves her knees trembling as they sink into the cushions on either side of his hips. She pushes down on them, attempts to get closer, to merge them as one.

Damn.

This shouldn't be happening. They are about to cross a line that shouldn't be crossed. This isn't an alcohol induced one night stand. This is about to be sex with her partner. An offence that could get them split up before they've even had a real chance to begin.

And since when does the idea of Rick – someone she's known for all of forty-eight hours - being kicked out of the Twelfth cause her palms to become sweaty with anxiety and her breath to become short?

As if sensing her mind's withdrawal, he physically pulls himself back, their mouths separating, but he doesn't go far, his lips resting like butterfly wings on her skin as he gently travels to her ear.

"Tonight. Just give me tonight."

Tonight. She can give him that…

* * *

Sleep calls to him, his eyelids fluttering closed, but Kate's body is nestled into his front, inches and inches of beautiful, naked skin and he opens them, just once more, to take in the curve of her shoulder, the way her hand seems so tiny when engulfed by his.

The first time he held Alexis, her tiny fingers had settled in his palm, her body bundled in a blanket, and he'd been struck by lightning, had been changed forever in a single moment. It was something he never expected to feel again, until that moment when it all changed again.

Horrifically changed forever.

"She'd just turned nine."

The words are small; lose flight as they fall out his mouth, settling as smudges across Kate's skin. Yet, she hums just as quietly and he continues.

"Her mom came to visit. She'd left us both when Alexis was small. Motherhood not her thing."

Even though the room is shrouded in shadows, his eyes close as his throat constricts with the mention of his ex-wife.

"I'd gone to pick her up from school. And she was gone. Meredith had flown in and surprised us all by picking her up."

His chest expands, pushes against Kate's back as the panic from that day crawls once more into his veins, and she turns, wiggles an arm around him, draws him closer, and he finds the words to keep going.

"She took her to Paris. Can you believe it? Took her for lunch."

He dreams still, of Alexis on the plane, looking out the window, flying away from him.

"They'd stopped at a market. 'Le marché des enfants rouges'. And she was just so young…"

She should never have been left to go to the bathroom by herself. Probably not here, and definitely not there in a strange city. A different language, unfamiliar landmarks and faces… what chance did she have, when her mother was too busy talking to Parisian men to pay attention to her absent daughter?

"They found her, eventually. It wasn't… It was bad. And they never did find any leads."

He'd spent months in France, searching for something, anything that could tell him who, give him answers as to why.

"Meredith was… never the same." Neither was he, but for very different reasons. "Blamed herself. She wasn't the only one. But then it got too much and- she overdosed."

The rest was history. He'd eventually returned to the States, thrown himself into becoming a cop so that no other family would be forced to spend months after months searching for the unreachable.

Lips flutter from his shoulder, across his collarbone and onto his neck. Kisses from Kate, and his breath shudders as he exhales. He told someone, told _her_, and it hurt and it was hard, but he's still here. She's still here.

Edging closer, she cuddles into him and he wraps himself around her until they are on their sides, limbs entwined. Heart to heart. Lips to lips.

His eyelids are becoming heavy again, but as sleep whispers enticingly to him, Kate speaks, drawing him back to her.

"We were supposed to go to dinner together- my mom, my Dad, and I, and she was gonna meet us at the restaurant, but she never showed…"

He holds her close, tries to use his body as a shield to protect her from her pain as she brings her own past to life with soul shattering words of loss and abandonment.

* * *

* For the purposes of this story I'm using Molly's birthdate since I couldn't find one for Alexis (Oct 1993).

* * *

_._

Wow, simply wow, because never could I have ever imagined the support that I've received with this.

Thank you, so very, very much xoxo

.

All my thanks to Jo and Jamie and their work and encouragement xoxo.

.

Thank you for reading xoxo and have a great Easter!


	8. Just tonight

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Eight - Just tonight**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

.

* * *

Closing the bathroom door, Kate cringes; the click of metal sliding into place is more crashing of bells than tinkering of chimes. Rick's hotel room is quiet considering its location; New York doesn't sleep but thankfully he still does.

The majority of his long, naked body remains concealed under the comforter he'd pulled over them after they'd fallen into bed. Cocooned in its warmth they had whispered of the past, their hidden secrets, before falling asleep entwined. Sadly, her need for the bathroom had broken through her dreams, and now, as her bare back leans heavily on the door, a decision needs to be made.

She should go home. She should use the cover of darkness to slip away from what they'd - silently - agreed would just be one night. One night, before they become work partners again.

Only work partners.

Or does she crawl between the sheets, take all she can from the last few hours she will ever have in his arms? This will be the last time the heat of his skin will keep her warm, and it will most certainly be the last time the fullness of his lips will brush against her own.

She's lying next to him before a conscious decision is reached, and it's too late, too early in the morning really, to be concentrating on what it means. Exhaustion is heavy in her bones as her body sinks into the mattress, her right side nestling into the luxurious sheets.

Her breathing becomes deeper, each exhale spaced a little further apart than the last, and as sleep begins to take hold, so does Rick.

Tugging the comforter up with one hand, he pulls it across her body once more, before enveloping her inside his arms, tucking her into his chest, a kiss against her forehead.

The last sound she hears before her dreams begin is the steady beat of his heart.

* * *

Daylight fights against his closed eyelids and with a huff Rick concedes defeat, opens them to squint around his hotel room until his gaze falls onto the perfectly sculptured back of his partner. Kate's sitting on the edge of the bed, turned away from him, apparently ready to leave, and it's like their first night together - their first morning - all over again.

He asked for one night, a night that is over, but still, his arm stretches across the empty sheets, fingertips ghosting across her glorious skin. Does the night need to end so soon?

"Hey." Angling toward him, she greets him softly, and he smiles in reply while his hand cups the curve of her hip. He tugs gently, but she's already indicating no; adorably messy curls cascade across her shoulders as she shakes her head, and he strains the muscles of his arm in order to reach higher, capturing a ringlet in his palm.

"I have to go home. I need to get dressed."

"I can make pancakes first?" He asks, won't plead, but breakfast will extend their bubble before reality breaks it apart.

As if an hour or two will make it easier.

How's he meant to turn off the growing emotions that surge when he touches her? The rapid beat of his heart as her eyes met his.

This was never supposed to happen.

Her hand encircles his wrist before her fingers trace lines along his forearm, past his biceps and shoulders, until, as she reaches his throat and the scattering of stubble, she stops.

Her focus is not on him though, not even on her own fingers, and he lets go of her hair to catch the ring that is swaying between her breasts.

It breaks the spell that had seized her, and, placing her chin on her chest, she looks down, her hand falling away from his neck to cover where his thumb warms the metal.

"Sorry, Rick. I should have taken it off. It probably scratched you."

His fingers turn the band until the diamond stands proud, acquires all their attention.

"It's your Mom's? Her wedding ring?"

"Yes."

"Then you should never take it off. Unless you feel ready to."

Her head jerks up, eyes meeting his, and he sees a tear perch itself on the edge of her eyelashes. Capturing it with his thumb, he brings his hand to his lips, tastes the salt before moving back to her, brushing the high ridge of her cheek, kissing her better.

If only it were that simple.

"Thank you. But I still have to go home. I have no clean clothes left at work."

He chuckles a little at that, doesn't ask if there are dirty ones, if her infamous blue dress is now residing at the bottom of her locker.

"Rain check then?"

Lifting an eyebrow, her expression clearly reminds him that this was it. That this has to be it. And he tries again.

"A rain check on _breakfast_. My treat."

Nodding, her lips tug in the corner, before she smiles, her mouth drawing wide until he is bestowed with dazzling white teeth.

Oh, he aches for her, and the knowledge that their final kiss was just one of many last night hurts too much, is not sacred enough. It should have its own moment.

Pulling himself up, he lets go of her ring to entwine his fingers in her hair, his mouth brushing against hers. She opens her lips, her tongue seeking access and he draws her inside. If this has to be the last time, then he is going to capture every sensation; the taste of her, the smell, the way his fingers itch to write all the ways she brings fire to his blood, until he is sure that he will boil under her touch.

She leaves him, before returning, dotting a tender kiss onto his lips, and he tells himself that it's because it is destroying her just as much as it is him. That losing contact with each other is so painful that she has no choice but to return for one more.

"I'll see you at work, Ri- _Castle_."

Right. Work. Castle and Beckett. It's time they worked on finding their stride at the precinct. Time to be partners.

* * *

Rick drags the mug reluctantly to his nose, takes a sniff, before dropping it to the counter in disgust. It doesn't matter how many times over the last few weeks he has tried to force himself to drink the stuff; after the third or so sip, his stomach protests, violently.

"Finish up, Castle. You have paperwork to do." Beckett's head pokes around the break room's door and he looks up to smile sweetly at her. Yeah. That sounds like fun.

"Any way I could convince you to do my half?" He wiggles his eyebrows, his grin changing into a smirk, and she rolls her eyes in reply. Although, as he adds this to memory, the way she rolls her eyes now, compared to when he first witnessed it, has undergone a softening. There's no shoulder hitch, no strain to her lips; these days he swears he can see a mischievous glint, as if it's more for show than because she is actually annoyed at him.

"When hell freezes over, Castle." Okay. So he is probably still irritating her, but there was definitely a fleeting upturn of her mouth, he's sure of it.

"Well, I did grab a scarf this morning so…" He stands still as her eyes slide down his chest, despite the fact that the scarf in question is draped over the back of his chair.

Damn. He _misses_ her.

"Do you want to go out for drinks later?" Her wayward gaze snaps up to his face, eyes widening before she glances quickly around the bullpen. Stepping into the break room properly, her mouth opens, no doubt to shoot his question down in flames and he jumps in before she gets the chance. "We should celebrate."

It brings her up short, her expression contorting in confusion. "Celebrate what?"

"Closing our fifth case together."

"Seriously?" The exasperation in her tone, the way her eyebrows jerk higher, her arms crossing her chest, stirs the ignored desire within him, makes acting professional almost impossible.

Reaching toward her, his hand slides across the material that covers her hip. He edges up, her shirt hiding his intentions, until his thumb reaches her smooth abdomen, and, using the flat line of his nail, he rakes across her skin.

"Don't you want to celebrate how _well_ we work together?"

He's crossing a line. He's crossing _the_ line, but they've been so well behaved and with another case behind them, the need to see her outside of work gives him the courage to misplace his position. He's not asking for that much.

"We should celebrate! You guys are great together." Ryan's interruption from the doorway has him hastily stepping away from Beckett. His fingers leave the warmth of her skin as he shoves both hands into the front pockets of his pants, with any luck discreetly concealing the growing problem he has.

Damn her and her ability to make him lose all common sense.

Ducking her head down, Kate pivots, walks over to the where he'd left his coffee, and, grasping the mug with both hands, she lifts it high, masking her face. The flush of pink tinting her skin tells him that she interpreted Ryan's statement the same way that he did. They really are great together – in every sense.

"Do you know any good places, Ryan?" With any luck he can distract the younger man from their reactions, get him thinking of something else besides the surging blood that's giving them both problems, and it seems to be working, because Ryan nods thoughtfully.

"I really liked going to that place, where we had that case. Oh, The Old Haunt."

He makes a choking noise as Ryan's suggestion hits him. His photo is up on a wall there. It was where he wrote his first novel, and while the picture is old, it's still a worry.

"It's a shame that place got taken over, I do love a good, old fashion bar." Montgomery strides through the other door, catches the three of them by surprise, although only the two of them react to hide their secret, Ryan merely nods in agreement.

Taking a sideways step, Castle positions his body behind a stool. He's gotten himself, and what was an expanding issue, under control, but the near miss is making him a little paranoid, and he's not the only one. Beckett's now searching through the fridge and he would bet a round of drinks that she's using the cool air to calm the blush that is heating her cheeks.

"Wait." Ryan lifts a hand for apparent effect. "I know where we can go for drinks."

* * *

Resting back against the booth, Kate smiles to herself, enjoying the quiet for a moment, the boys all having left to yell at the screen above the bar. They're only on the third round but tonight has been good, just what she needed to release some of the tension that has been settling on her shoulders of late. It's not anything specific, indeed, everything at work has been better than ever. The team's closure rate is apparently higher by the amount of eighteen percent, or so Montgomery exclaimed as he bought them their first round, but…

Something's missing, he's-

A hand drifts over her knee, inches high, and she doesn't need to look to see who it is. Speak of the devil.

"You look well and truly relaxed there, Detective." His nose nudges her hair back, makes room so he can use his lips to brush along the slope of her ear and she holds herself as still as possible.

She will not react.

She will not grab a fist full of his shirt and drag his fine ass through the nearest exit. Will not shove him into the nearest alleyway and most definitely not fuck his brains out, removing any trace of the smirk that is no doubt adorning his ruggedly handsome face.

"I'm not interrupting you two, am I?"

* * *

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All the chocolate Easter eggs will be showered over all of you. I really appreciate all the goodies that were showered upon me!

Thank you xoxo

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As always Jo and Jamie all the Lindt bunnies that are left are coming your way ;-) thank you for the beta!

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	9. Again

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Nine - Again**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

"I'm not interrupting you two, am I?"

Montgomery's question slices through her fantasizing, and she jumps in the seat, her body jerking with the intrusion as Castle tears himself away from her ear. The gap that's forming between them cools the molten lava pooling in her abdomen, but her mind is slower to catch up to the change.

"Uh..."

Words, Kate. Form words.

"I was just seeing if Beckett was in need of a refill. This round's on me." Explaining away their closeness, Rick smiles charmingly as he starts to exit the booth, his body moving further away from hers as he prepares to leave her alone with their captain.

Not that there would normally be an issue; Roy's been her mentor for so many years she's stopped counting, but that's exactly why – as his eyes dart pointedly between her and Castle – she can see the 'something' in his expression. There's an intensity that is ringing all sorts of alarm bells and her hand curls into a fist.

She will not reach for her deserting partner and drag his ass back to her side. Will not make him stay with her regardless of how uneasy she is to be facing Montgomery's firing squad by herself. She does, however, throw Castle a glare that should singe the edges of his cocky grin; not that it works as he wiggles both eyebrows in response.

Bastard.

"I'll get one for you too, Sir?"

Not waiting for an answer, Castle is already half way across the room, and she settles her gaze on the older man before her.

She may as well get this over with. Whatever this is.

"You and Castle seem to be a good fit."

Her jaw slackens as she stares straight ahead. Surely, she didn't hear him correctly. Because he can't mean…

"The two of you. You work well together. From what I've seen."

Montgomery remains focused on her face, and he stays still as the hand on her watch travels around, before he eventually raises an eyebrow in question. She searches for some way to indicate she is listening - forces herself to nod.

"Beckett?"

Damn, she needs to drop the stunned puppy routine or he is really going to start suspecting something's wrong.

"Yes, Sir?"

He leans forward, crossing his arms loosely, before resting them on the table, and she squares her shoulders. Something is very _off_ with this conversation, but she's a homicide detective for Pete's sake - she should be able to handle a chat with her boss over a beer! She needs to get a grip!

"Have you had a chance to get to know each? Everything appears to be clicking… as if... I thought…"

Breaking eye contact with her, he glances toward Castle at the bar before shifting his attention back, and her heart lodges itself high in her throat. What in the world is he trying to say? Or worse, what in the world does he know?

"We're good, Sir. We work well as a team, with Ryan and Espo. The four of us. We all work well as a team." Her head bobs up and down as if pulled on by strings, and even to her own ears she sounds thoroughly unconvincing.

He nods once, the continued quiet calm about him only adding to the panic that is seizing her. This is how you become Captain - you learn how to make the detectives under you squirm. Make them prepared to throw themselves in front of a bus, just to avoid a 'chat'.

She could really do with a bus right about now.

"And you, Sir? How are you?"

Pulling away from the table, Montgomery relaxes into the seat while smiling broadly at her.

"Good, Beckett. Everything is good. Although I'm curious where the next round got to."

Sliding out of the booth, she returns the grin, shaky as it may be, and standing tall, she points with her thumb in the direction of her partner.

"I'm just gonna chase that up for you."

And while she is over there, she's going to find something stiffer than a beer, because she's sure there was more to that conversation than what was said.

* * *

Ryan tucks the phone back into his pocket and Rick tries not to laugh as Esposito makes a whip cracking noise. It is funny though, how it only takes one text from Jenny and Ryan is suddenly ready to call it a night.

"Hey, if you had a wonderful wife waiting for you at home, you'd be outta here too!" Ryan defends as he gets up, before his eyes widen. Twisting he looks at Montgomery and hastily corrects, "You have a wonderful wife, Sir. I just meant…" Snapping his attention to Beckett, he digs himself further into the hole, "You could have a wonderful husband, Beckett. Or a wife, if you-"

Holding up her palm, she silences Ryan, thankfully, and Rick brings his nearly empting glass to his lips, covering the grin that is pulling his mouth wide.

"Go home, Ryan." Beckett smiles graciously, letting him off the hook, and the younger man nods his thanks, before raising his hand in farewell and heading toward the door.

"For all his blundering, he is right. I do have a wonderful wife at home and I should be going." Montgomery's expression brightens as he stands to follow Ryan out the door, but the words hit Rick suddenly, a knife in the hole that should be his heart.

He bites the jealousy back; just because he can't have that life doesn't mean they don't deserve the amazing lives that they have.

"Is Lanie waiting for you?" Stretching into the free space that's been created, Beckett looks at Espo with a mischievous glint in her eye. Her fingers come close to brushing the sleeve of Rick's shirt as she speaks, and it all combines; the joy in her as she teases Esposito, and the way her almost touch sparks at his skin. It washes away the sadness, makes it hard for him to concentrate on anything but her; the way her nose scrunches adorably, how the corner of her lips push high as she waits for a reply, a curl falling across her cheek as she dips her head for a moment.

His fingers flex, patter up and down on his jeans as he commits to memory her every move, every aspect, every part that is her. He wants to write it all down - bring her to life on paper.

He jerks in his seat, and, Beckett and Esposito glance his way with matching expressions, curiosity pushing their eyebrows high, and he waves them off.

It's just that if there were a keyboard in front of him, he could type. In fact, he actually _itches_ to type, and it shocks him - it's been a long time dormant, and yet, the fluttering of his fingers has been occurring more and more lately.

Because of her.

"Castle?"

Bringing himself back to the table, he scans their booth only to see that they are the only two left; evidently Esposito went home and he's managed to miss his departure. Well, that's awkward.

"Sorry. Got lost for a minute."

Her fingers glide over his wrist, nails raking through the hairs on his arm, and his eyes close as the base of his spine tightens. It is a never-ending fight to control the urge to touch, to kiss, to bury himself deep within her.

"Do you want to head home, Castle? I mean-"

"We could split a cab? I'm staying at the Plaza at the moment." He stops the rest of her sentence with his question, clueing her in on his newest address - even if her place is in the opposite direction - he's not ready for tonight to be over just yet.

* * *

Rick slides into the cab beside her, sitting a little too close for her liking. Well that's what the innocent part of her whispers. The devil on her shoulder jumps for joy before it reaches down and knocks her knee into his thigh.

Smirking, he nudges her with his leg, returning her actions while eradicating the small space that was between them. The heat of _him_ burns through her pants where her skin aches to be next to his. The material scratches as she wriggles, trying to get more comfortable.

The growing ache that's been building throughout the night has her moving again, and his hand traps the fidgeting muscle of one thigh, holds her steady for moment, before he drifts down.

His fingers descend until he reaches the seat between her legs, the back of his knuckles ghosting across her other thigh and she pierces her bottom lip with her teeth.

She will not moan - loudly, or otherwise - in the back of a taxi.

"Hey, you two. I need an address."

She gazes down at the position of his hand, listens to the flutter of her heart, and despite her common sense, how professionally wrong it is, the answer escapes her mouth before her head catches up to it. "The Plaza. You can take us to The Plaza."

It's just that the lie she tells herself every day as his partner, that she can keep the wall between them, has developed some structural issues tonight.

Watching the others go home, knowing that everyone has _someone, _hurt in a way that has never happened before.

Before meeting him.

* * *

His arm tightens around her, his fingers curling into the sheets as he tugs, cocoons them inside the comforter and he cuddles into the smooth curve of her back. Using his nose, he brushes the loose strands of her hair out of his way, creating a clearer path to the long arch of Kate's neck and he rests his mouth upon her skin.

The taste of sweat still clings, the inferno of last night lingering, and, poking his tongue out further, he licks until he reaches her ear.

"If you're hungry, go get breakfast."

He tries not to laugh at the irritation in her tone, the shake of her shoulder as she knocks herself into him, but it spills out, startling them both. Kate twists in the sheets, sits up with a hand clutching the material to her chest, and as she looks at him, he drops onto his back.

This is what it is to be happy, and, the emotion, bursting like butterflies out of his stomach, catches him by surprise. It's been a long time coming.

"I could eat."

Wriggling a hand beneath the sheets while he speaks, he inches toward her hip, crosses further until he finds exactly what he is searching for, and she flops down onto the mattress. The huff that escapes her mouth leaves him chuckling again at her antics, and she angles her head, silently observing him.

"I was going to say that's not what I meant by breakfast, but…"

"You can't refuse me?"

Kate laughs at that, her shoulders shaking, before the movement transforms into a shudder that rocks her hard against his hand, and he presses down with a little more effort, attempts to get her trembling for the right reasons.

"I…"

Her teeth trap her bottom lip as he swaps hands, leans closer, gains a better angle and the rest of her sentence is lost in the moan that squeezes its way through her closed mouth.

"Sorry, Kate. I didn't quite catch that."

"You're an ass."

Pulling his hand reluctantly higher and out of her body, he situates himself chest to chest with her, his elbows and knees bearing the majority of his weight and looking down, he commits to memory what it is to see her in the early morning light. How the highlights in her hair capture the sun, the soft glow that shines through her still sleepy features.

There's no rush out of his bed for the first time, and it fills him with such a sense of wonder. The possibilities endless.

Yet…

"I should get going, Rick?" Placing her hand to his cheek, he swears there is a question to her words, a reluctance to her tone. Maybe he's not the only one who can see the potential of today.

"Or, since it's our day off, we could…"

He won't push, won't drag her across the line that is normally between them, but damn, his breath and his hopes are well and truly lodged in his throat.

"We could…?" Her gaze lingers on her fingers, avoids his eyes but as her legs widen beneath him, her hips swaying forward, she hardly needs to finish her sentence.

"We could…" He pushes down for a moment, before returning to his position above her. "And maybe after- I owe you pancakes."

The silence adds to the yearning in his blood, and it increases the beat of his heart until he is sure that it's going to explode under the stress. He's crossed the line, asked for something that he can't have, shouldn't have, but she's under his skin, in his veins, and how is he supposed to get her out?

"That would be nice, Rick. And maybe…" Her eyes, a perfect green glimmer, meet his, and he becomes a statue as it all dances within his reach. "We could catch a movie or-"

"Good idea. We can do that. Spend some time getting to know each other."

"It's important. If we have to rely on each other. That we trust each other. Have a solid bond."

"Exactly, Kate. And I'm sure Ryan and Espo catch up outside of work all the time."

Bringing both hands over her face, their flimsy exchange of excuses come to a halt. She groans and he dots a kiss onto each of her fingers until she reveals the bright red flush of her face.

"Rick?"

"Kate?"

"Don't ever mention the guys in bed again!"

His arms collapse, his body dropping heavily on top of her as she giggles and squirms underneath, and he should be sorry, would be sorry, except his mind is caught in circles, as he replays the highlight of her admonishment over and over.

_Again_. She said again.

* * *

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Okay so we are all out of Easter eggs in this house, but I will smother you all with hugs and kisses instead xoxo

Thank you for being so amazing

.

Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their constant support and beta work xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	10. Walls

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Ten - Walls**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Happy Birthday Dx2012, I'm sorry it's not a one shot, but birthday pancakes for you :-)

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* * *

The syrup descends from the bottle in a gush that rivals a waterfall, the sticky goo covering Rick's breakfast until Kate's teeth ache at the sight.

"Do you want some pancakes with your syrup?"

Looking up, he flashes her a brilliant smile, bright teeth showing, before he inserts a fork full into his mouth. His lips shine with the topping, and, she watches closely as a trickle escapes from the corner, slowly inches its way down, until at last it hangs precariously from his chin.

How much trouble would they be in if she were to climb over the table and lick the syrup from his skin in the middle of the diner?

"You have…" Kate waves a finger in the direction of the enticing droplet, and, grabbing a napkin, Rick wipes across the bottom half of his face, eradicating the temptation.

"I was kind of hoping you were going to take care of that for me." Adding in a dramatic wiggle of his eyebrows, he smirks, obviously reading her thoughts a little too well for comfort and she huffs in reply.

They're in a public setting – what can she really do without getting them arrested?

The heat within her blood rises as images flash before her eyes of all the ways she _could_ get them in front of a judge. But, instead of acting on those, she slips one foot out of a shoe, flexes her bare toes in anticipation.

He shouldn't play with fire, unless he's prepared to be burned.

Kate starts subtly enough; bringing her own fork to her mouth, she eats a much less smothered piece of pancake, and, as he goes back to consuming his, blissfully unaware, she uses her toes to feel for the hem of his pants.

He had chosen jeans today, a form fitting pair that left little to the imagination, especially after she'd made a point of putting on yesterday's clothes - very, _very_ slowly. The hard length of him fighting against the material had her fingers itching to disrobe, to crawl back into bed for round two of their morning, but with a wink and a promise that _lunch_ would be later, Rick was already heading out the door.

Not that she's planning on spending the whole day with him. They're just out for breakfast, like any other day. Except that today is their day off, and normally when they hang out it's at Remy's, and they're avoiding paperwork instead of enjoying a "morning after" breakfast at a cozy midtown café. But it's _not_ that different. Really.

Really?

Shaking her head, she attempts to shake her anxiety. She can work herself into knots worrying about crossing the line of professionalism later tonight while she's alone in her apartment. For now, it's payback.

Her foot attacks, slides quickly under the bottom of his jeans, and, using her nails, she pushes his sock down while scraping his skin.

His reaction is immediate. Jumping in his seat, his foot jerks away from hers, his knee hitting the underside of the table as his hand drops the fork with a clatter that has the neighboring diners turning to see what all the commotion is about.

Eating another mouthful of pancakes, her tongue purposely drifts across her lips as she collects the syrup that's been left behind and Rick groans, both hands scrubbing across his face.

"That's mean, Kate. Just mean." His voice is muffled by his palms, but she hears him clear enough, and laughing, she reaches forward, pulling at the closed screen that is his fingers.

"That's what you get-"

The ringing of her cell has her reprimand coming to a halt, and reaching for the device, the sound is echoed as Rick's phone joins hers.

Holding it in her hand, she turns the screen in his direction and he follows suit. The displays show the precinct is calling. Both of them, on their day off? This has bad news all over it.

* * *

Tapping his hand against his thigh, Rick is well and truly agitated. Agitated at having to be at the precinct on their day off, agitated that his chance at spending time with Kate has flown out the window, and agitated that he couldn't get a decent explanation out of dispatch when he'd stepped discreetly away from the booth so they could answer their phones.

"Castle."

His head angles to the left so he can stare at Kate and her eyes flicker down to his fingers drumming out a continuous beat on his jeans, before she goes back to drilling a hole in the elevator doors.

Has it always been this slow to get to the fourth floor? Or-

Finally, they slide open and the two of them stride briskly through the corridor. He spots the group gathered in the center of the bullpen at the same moment Beckett does, and altering their path as one, they approach Esposito and Ryan on the outer fringe.

"What's going on?" Getting straight to the point, Beckett splits her stare between the two of them and he stands quietly next to her. He's used to her taking point by now, has no issue following her lead. His partner is damn good at her job and he is well aware - even with only five cases under their belt - that his place on the team is by her side.

And talking. She'd say that he's also responsible for all the talking.

"Prison escape. Everyone's been called in. Gotta search the warehouse area where they were last seen." Espo fills them in quickly, yet, as he turns to face Beckett, his gaze travels up and down her slowly, and Castle's hand curls into a fist.

What the hell is he looking at?

"How'd you get here, Beckett?"

Kate's eyes scan the room, and, pulling his attention from Espo, Castle shadows her action, stopping as they catch sight of Montgomery who is beginning to make lines on the blank white board.

"Castle picked me up. Why?"

"'Cause it's like the second time in a month that you're wearing last night's clothes." There's a trace of humor in Espo's words, curiosity for sure, but also a hard edge that prickles the length of Castle's spine.

He's pretty certain that whatever Kate does is none of Javi's business.

"Shit." Looking down at her clothes - obviously forgetting that they'd gone straight from his room at the Plaza to breakfast - a pink flush surges up the line of her neck and across her cheeks.

"Cover for me, guys."

Blocking her way, Ryan grins, and placing both hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels.

"Beckett's got a boyfriend."

Kate rolls her eyes while Rick's heartbeat becomes a herd of elephants in his ears as all the ways they could be outed crash through his mind to the point that he nearly misses her reply.

"Seriously, guys, drop it."

Sliding next to his partner, Espo mimics Ryan's stance and creating a wall that prevents her exit to the gym, he continues like a dog with a bone.

"Is it serious? Have you found the one? Hell, is it even the same guy?"

Huffing, Beckett folds her arms across her chest, darts daggers between the two of them before finally giving in.

"It was nothing, okay? Let it go."

Montgomery's voice ends their conversation as he calls out that he'll be starting the briefing in five minutes, everyone looks his way and it gives Beckett the chance to escape unnoticed - _nearly_.

He sees her. Watches intently as she dashes for the stairs, up to the lockers and her change of clothes. It's not the only thing he witnesses. He's almost positive that the bits of his heart, the newly formed muscle that has sprung to life under her touch has shattered before him. A trail of invisible broken pieces follow her all the way as she leaves him standing dumbfounded.

There are a million ways she could have explained last night. She could have given all sorts of reasons as to why she never made it home. Or who may be in her life at the moment.

He just never expected the word 'nothing' to ever be used when describing this thing between them.

* * *

Sitting next to Castle in the van, Kate attempts to knock her knee into his as covertly as possible. He's been distracted. Withdrawn. And the worry is eating away at her stomach; it adds to the heightened emotions that come with having her vest strapped on while situated with seven other officers as they travel to their assigned area.

Montgomery had briefed them on their tasks. A floor-to-floor search of each warehouse. Each van was assigned a different one. Five inmates were last seen entering the district and roadblocks mean they may still be there.

Getting no response, she hits his leg a little harder, hisses his name in an attempt to get his attention.

Unfortunately, the only person to look her way is her captain, and she smiles quickly, covers her behavior with a reassuring grin.

Everything's fine. Nothing to see.

Except everything _isn't_ fine and for the life of her she can't work out how they went from laughing over pancakes to having a ten foot, reinforced steel fence between them.

Coming to a stop, the van shudders as the engine is turned off, and, swinging the doors wide, Espo and Ryan exit first. Hitting the concrete, weapons raised, the rest of them hop out, scatter across the open space, backs hitting the wall of the warehouse without incident.

Not that this is really high risk. There are twelve large warehouses scattered haphazardly between three main roads and a waterfront, and their escapees could be just about anywhere by now.

Still, orders are orders.

Sensing Castle behind her, she scans the others quickly, takes note of the distance between them, and inching closer to him. She has to ask before they go in.

He's her partner, the one who has her back, and she checks that he does indeed have it.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

She glances at him before concentrating on their progression toward the front door, but what she sees is disconcerting. His jaw is a hard line, lips drawn tight, and the most distressing aspect are his eyes – cold as they see straight through her.

"I'm fine, Beckett."

She closes her eyes for a second, regrouping, before straightening her shoulders and walking to the entrance. Fine. She huffs. He's not _fine_.

* * *

"Kate. Kate, look at me. You're going to be fine."

Rick's words catch, tumble over each other, and even from her position, she can see that he is starting to lose all sense of restraint.

This is bad. This is all sorts of fucked up.

The sharp edge of the butcher's knife digs into the flesh of her neck every time she twitches, every time she takes a breath. Not that she is at all breathing regularly.

Behind her, the fugitive keeps her contained. With one arm wrapped tightly under her breasts, he uses the other to hold the knife to her throat and it makes what is normally the most simple of tasks almost impossible.

She's just got to remember how to breathe.

"Kate. You've got this."

Castle draws her attention back to him, and she could laugh at the irony of the situation. Forty minutes ago, she'd been trying to get his attention. Trying to get any response out of him, and now…

"Rick."

His name is a rasp, barely a sound, but he smiles, nodding reassuringly. The two yards between them seem like a mile, but it should be further; he's inching toward her instead backing away as he apparently disregards all rules of protocol.

Swallowing, as hard as it is to do, she tries to infuse some strength in her voice, get some control over the situation.

"Castle."

There's a definite edge of warning this time, and she glares at him; not that he is listening. He takes another step closer, and, this time Castle's stupidity is seen by the man behind her.

"Hey. Back away. Back away now before I slice her head clean off."

As if to prove his point, he angles the blade, points the tip further into her skin, and the sharp pain brings tears to her eyes as she feels her flesh open under the edge of the knife.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she stares at Castle, silently pleads – stand down.

* * *

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Thank you for the smiles, the laughs, and the major flails that you give me with each and every review. You leave me in a puddle of feels xoxo

.

As always to Jo and Jamie, thank you for the beta and your friendship xoxo

.

Thank you for reading xoxo


	11. The art of misunderstanding

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Eleven - The art of misunderstanding**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Rick's sweaty palm clutches at the standard issue service weapon in his hand. His breathing is shallow, the air not quite making it past his throat into his lungs, and his body burns at the lack of oxygen. His eyes squint as the sunlight streams through the warehouse's window, catching the steel blade at Kate's throat; an array of colors bounce off the knife's surface and for a fraction of a second his gaze becomes transfixed on the rainbow that splashes across the wall.

Yet, the color splayed on the chipped plaster is nothing compared to the thin red line that's now spilling across Kate's neck.

"You're gonna be okay."

If he says it enough times he might start to believe it, and, sliding his foot over the concrete floor - rather than stepping toward her - his eyes focus once more on the convicted felon who holds her captive.

While the knife remains against Kate's throat, the edge opening up more and more skin, the fugitive doesn't appear to react to Castle's progression forward, and trying again, he covers another foot or so in distance.

"Take it easy."

He's going for reassuring, calm, is ignoring the anger that is tensing his every muscle- at least until he can get close enough to take the knife out of the bastard's hand and apply it to the prick's own skin.

Peeling the flesh off, inch by inch, is downright appealing at the moment. The moral code he normally holds himself to is ebbing away as the blood from Kate's wound steadily flows down her skin, begins to soak her shirt.

It's not the first time he's snapped because of someone who is important to him.

He's kissed her there, caressed the long length of her throat, felt her shudder under his lips as he's nipped and tasted her skin and he can't let it go. As much as he should be putting his feelings in a box and following the rules that instruct him to stay away, wait for back up, he can't. He won't. Not when it's her.

"Let her go, son." Montgomery's steady voice from across the room has them all turning toward him. He's managed to place himself on the opposite wall with Kate stuck in the middle, and thankfully the distraction helps Rick- he steals another two feet without anyone realizing it.

"We're not going to do anything stupid here." Speaking again, their captain maintains eye contact with the fugitive but Castle is almost certain that the words are meant for him.

What exactly is the definition of stupid, though?

* * *

The pain flares, pulls tight with every swallow, with the slightest of movements. Sweat is forming under her vest, while the perimeter of her vision is hazy; whether from lack of oxygen or blood loss she isn't sure, probably doesn't want to know. How much blood can she lose from a cut to the neck?

"Back up is downstairs. Just let Detective Beckett go and this will end peacefully."

Except Montgomery is stretching the truth; there is no back up on its way. They'd already cleared this building, were heading out the front door when Officer Simmons realized he'd dropped his radio and she'd offered to use hers to find it.

A simple task gone horribly wrong.

There's a jerk, the knife around her throat digging into her flesh again and her pulse thumps rapidly in the arteries of her neck as if they are aware of what is about to happen; how their blood is about to be sprayed across the floor as she dies.

Oh. God. She's about to die.

Suddenly she is falling, the ground catching her as she crashes onto her back, her head meeting the concrete with a crack that thunders in her ears. The small amount of air in her lungs exits in a puff, is knocked clear from her chest and she lies there stunned, eyes closing, as if by shutting out the world she will be able to shut out the agony that is clutching her tight.

"Kate. Kate. Stay with me, Kate."

Castle pleads from above her, his words shattering the space between them and as the pieces rain down on her skin, she wills herself to open her eyes.

Just open her eyes.

There's pressure on her neck, fingers covering the wound and it creates a wave of pain that flares in all directions, starts flashes of light in the dark that is her vision.

Why can't she open her eyes?

"Kate..."

She drags in a breath, barely a rattle, the first since she was released to topple backwards. But it's something at least. There are scraping noises to her left, and Montgomery's voice is not much more than an echo as he reels off the Miranda rights to the asshole that did this to her. And once she can move, get off the floor, she's going to enjoy dragging him back to prison.

She just has to open her eyes.

Material is now sliding against her skin, with any luck stopping the blood that is destroying her shirt, and she can't work out where it has come from, but the compression is less, not so brutal, and the air moves more easily down her throat as a droplet of water splashes onto her cheek.

What?

Blinding light comes and goes as her eyelids flutter, and, slowly adjusting, she catches sight of Rick above her. A single tear is making its way over the rise of his cheekbone, following the path made by the one before and it brings her pain, the entire situation, how close it could have been, into focus.

Is this how her mom felt lying in the alleyway?

Her own tear escapes, rolls from the corner of her eye, mixes with the hair above her ear, and as another swells, Rick's thumb drifts across her skin, catches it before it's released.

"It's okay, Kate. It's gonna be okay."

Smiling, or at least attempting to, she tries to reassure him that she's okay. She will be okay. She's just going to lie here for a moment, and not think about all the ways this could have gone. The way it went for her mom.

* * *

"I've done the best I can considering we're in the back of an ambulance. But you really should go to a hospital."

Trying not to grunt ungratefully, Kate instead attempts to offer the young paramedic a smile. It's hardly his fault that she is suffering, that she's stubborn and that she's under no circumstances heading off to hospital because of a little cut and a sore head.

"I'll be fine."

"You'll be going home."

Montgomery appears by the door, his eyes no doubt taking in the white bandage that covers her neck, the way she sits slumped in the back of the ambulance, and she stiffens her spine, straightens her shoulders – tries not to contort her face into a grimace. Her movement turns the throb in her body into a roar that crawls along her throat, desperate to get out, and she tightens her lips against the sound.

She's fine.

Shaking her head to indicate no, she forces herself forward, off the edge of the gurney, and out of the van so she can stand in front of her captain.

She will be fine.

"I'm heading back to the precinct. I need to give my statement, Sir."

Her fingers coil around the shirt in her hand, squeeze tight at the idea of going home to her apartment alone, to sit and think about her mom, to replay over and over all the ways their amazing morning turned into this hell.

"You're going home and that's not up for debate, Detective. It's bad enough that _I_ have to deal with the paperwork that this shit storm has created." His hand lifts, scrubs the top of his head before it falls to his side, and she swallows her retort. It's like he's aged five years before her, the weight of the job creasing the lines of his face a little bit more than usual this afternoon.

"I don't want to see you before lunch tomorrow. Is that understood?"

Her chin drops as she goes to nod, but the action pulls at the butterfly strips holding the skin of her neck together. The cut isn't deep, or she wouldn't be standing here having this argument, but it's enough to irritate. It's enough that she stops, her eyes closing in defeat.

A hand rests heavily on her shoulder and she looks up again to see her captain's brown eyes boring into hers. The silence drowns out the background noise around them, freezes time, before he breaks it.

"You're lucky your partner can disarm a knife wielding idiot. Even if he was never supposed to." Their eye contact holds and once again in the space of twenty-four hours she's left with the feeling that those are not the words that were meant to be said. That if she were anyone else, he would be saying something very different.

Not that she can work out what makes her different to any of the other cops in his precinct.

"See you tomorrow, Beckett."

Pivoting on the spot, he doesn't wait for a reply, instead stalks back to the group near the warehouse, and her eyes drop to the blood-covered shirt in her hand. She should return it to Castle, go home, find a good glass of red - screw common sense that says combining alcohol with the painkillers they've dosed her with is a bad idea - and deal with the emotional scarring in private. Try to forget that today happened.

Forget what it was to have a blade to her skin, to feel it pierce her flesh, to lay on the cold, concrete floor shrouded in black.

* * *

"Hey. Your shirt's ruined, but I thought I'd better give it back. Espo's completely jealous of the six pack he can see under your white tee."

Rick sucks in a sharp breath as he looks up from the ground, pushes away from the side of the ambulance where he _hasn't_ been standing, waiting for the paramedics to be finished, and he eyes her wearily. He's heard Montgomery send her home, would understand if she was angry at being dismissed, but the flippant tone catches him by surprise. It's not funny. Not even as a cop does he see the humor here.

"Are you ready to go?"

Ignoring her 'joke', he focuses on getting her out of here while reaching for the material, even though he will never wear it again. It's going to take a lot of digging to be able to bury the image of her lying on the ground, her blood coating his hand as he'd frantically torn his vest off, ripped his shirt free so he could cover the wound across her throat.

"Go where, Castle?"

He can feel his eyebrows draw tight together as confusion wins over all the other emotions that are running rampant through his body. Concern. Worry. Stress. Anxiety. Guilt.

"Your place. Montgomery sent you home."

"Me, Castle. He sent _me_ home."

Staring at him, her head angles, and for a fleeting moment he sees her expression cloud over, a flicker of _something_ crossing her face, before it's gone. She's standing tall before him, indifference rolling off her as she shrugs a shoulder.

And maybe what he saw was never there to start with.

Her lips open, all that's unsaid between them resting on the edge of her tongue before she closes her mouth, and he remains just as silent, her earlier rebuff, her description to the boys that they are 'nothing', holds his words hostage.

"Thanks, though. For everything."

Offering him a half-hearted smile, she turns, walks away, and his gaze drops to his hands. Coated with her blood, the red that cakes his fingers is a stark reminder of how close he came to losing her today and he forces himself to let her go.

They each have their flaws, too many to count, maybe too many for this to ever be. They're partners, nothing more, and if she is fine going home alone, then so be it. He won't stand in her way.

Because for a moment he'd _felt_ again, was alive, except all that did was allow access to the terror that comes with _feeling_, with letting others inside, and he needs to close the wall back up, before it's too late.

Before she gets in too far.

* * *

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I hope the baked goods I sent through email made up for last chapter. As for this one I am open to suggestion, lol.

Thank you for all the amazing kindness you show me through your reviews, the smile is never ending xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for edits and flails xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	12. Pandas

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Twelve - Pandas**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Rick stalks away from Kate's front door, takes a total of six steps before he pivots, switches from foot to foot, and then finds himself standing back where he was. The entire way over here - he'd given his statement at the precinct and then practically run out of the place - he'd gone over and over the reasons he needs to stay away. Yet here he is.

The surface mocks him; a flimsy piece of wood really. He's kicked his way through enough of them, but he can't make his way through this one. He can't even get the courage to knock.

He should go. But he stalls, starts lingering on the whys.

Why is he here? Why does he care? Why is he chasing after her when she clearly stated that she was heading home _alone_?

Exhaling loudly, he turns again, walks away. The more sensible part of him, the sane part, the part that is reasonable, can see how this - seeking her out, letting her into his heart, his life - is plain crazy; that part wins the internal battle.

So he leaves.

"Rick?"

Twisting, he sees Kate in the doorway, her bottom lip trapped tight between her teeth as she gnaws the flesh, her forehead furrowing, an eyebrow raised. It seems he's not the only one having issues.

"I just- I came to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine."

He snorts at that, scoffs at the stupidity of her words as she blocks the entrance to her home, because _of course_ she is fine, _of course_ everything is okay, it's not like today was any different from a normal day of work.

"Fantastic. Good to know." Angling away from her, he moves to leave once more, his sarcasm covering his words as thickly as the syrup did his pancakes this morning - was it really only this morning?

"Rick." She says his name again, this time with more breath than tone, a sigh that crosses the space between them until it settles heavily onto his skin and his shoulders slump under its weight.

He doesn't know how to do this. To fight. For her.

"You wanna come in?"

Nodding, he walks to her, a hand shifting of its own accord to ghost across the skin of her arm, the call that is_ her_ too powerful to pass over.

His gaze travels slowly around as he enters, absorbs all the elements of her home. The details confirm his theories, the little stories that he has created about her; the love of elephants, the knickknacks with which she decorates not only her desk at work, but also her apartment. It all tells a tale, forms a clearer picture of his partner.

This is the first time he has been inside, normally he's restricted to waiting for her in the car out the front, and it's clear to him why. This is Kate, open and exposed, all of her on display. And it's beautiful.

* * *

"So, what are you _really_ doing here, Rick?"

Kate focuses on the closing door and _not_ on how he is spellbound by all the details of her apartment, how he is breathing her in, learning her. It's amazing to watch when he does it at work, how he catalogues the information, but not so much when she's the victim.

Not that she's a victim. Never that.

"I…" Shrugging his shoulders, any explanation he might have dissolves and it leaves them at an impasse. She can't fill the blanks in any more easily than he can.

"Are you okay?" He attempts again, and she smiles a little at the repetitive nature of his question; she has to give him points for trying.

"I'm-"

"Fine. Yeah, I got that."

Both of his hands lift to rip through his hair, sending the strands into disarray and the symbolism has her inhaling sharply. This really is a mess.

They really are a mess.

"What do you want me to say, Castle?"

"Something. Anything. Besides 'I'm fine'."

His eyes glaze, sheen with emotion and it cuts at her skin just as easily as the knife did earlier today, slicing her open again in its own way.

"What? You want me to say it hurts? How every time I move I'm reminded of how I could have died?" Dropping her head forward in spite of the pain that flares, the ache that's wrapped itself around her throat, and, staring at her feet, she hides behind the wall of hair that falls forward as she murmurs, "How close history came to being repeated?"

Like mother, like daughter.

A hand captures the screen she's created, tucks the strands behind her right ear, before he repeats the process on the left side, exposing her face. Leaning forward, he rests his lips against her forehead.

"I don't know how to do this, Kate." He whispers the words into her skin and they enter her blood stream, travel to her heart. "It's like we're yin and yin, instead of yin and yang. And rather than helping each other we're just a panda."

Pulling back, confusion has her raising her head so she can look at him. She scans his features, searching his face for a clue because his words have left her at a loss.

"We're a panda?"

He chuckles before looping his arms back around her, his fingers splaying wide across the small of her back and as he draws her into his chest, she relaxes against the solid ground that is his body.

"I don't know what to do or say to make it okay, Kate." Silence settles, and they stay standing, statues until he continues. "And no. We're not Yin Yin, the panda. Just…"

Whatever is troubling him, he seems to let it go, and she closes her eyes because maybe she doesn't need to pursue the panda metaphor. Not while he brushes another kiss into her hair and she sinks further into his embrace, allows the sensation of not being alone to wash over-

"Oh. Crap. The bath."

* * *

The bubble of intimacy bursts as Kate jerks out of his arms and he's at a loss as to what to do next. She's scurrying into another room, and, right or wrong, he trails after her, props himself up against the doorway as she bends over the bath tub, turning off the taps.

"That was close."

Twisting to glare at him over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth contorts, and he reads her "Seriously!" expression easily. He cops it at work all the time whenever he has a theory that isn't quite in the box.

She eases herself onto the edge of the large clawed bath that sits in the middle of her bathroom, glances up and down his body once before she indicates the counter behind him.

"Do you want to make yourself useful and light some candles? The sun will be setting soon."

Smiling, he goes to work, ignites as many as he can while she putters around with the bath salts. The domestic nature of this should be causing him to break out into a sweat.

But instead it's like he's come home.

The flames flicker before him, and the notion of home brings him to a stop, unable to go onto the next one. It's not because of the fear that's racing through his veins, or his heart that is thrashing in panic. It's because there's nothing - nothing but anticipation and hope as hundreds of butterflies soar free from his soul.

"Rick?"

His eyes flutter closed for a moment at the way his name falls from her lips, and moving away from the last candle, he approaches silently, enclosing her within his arms. The way she fits under his chin as she snuggles in, her fingers gripping the t-shirt he'd been left to wear after the takedown - this is why there is no need to run.

Why he finds himself standing still for the first time in so many years.

"I'm fine."

Huffing at his response, she knocks her forehead gently into his chest and he attempts to hold the laughter in, now he's done exactly what she did. Yin and yin indeed.

Kate releases his shirt, pulls back until there is a foot of space between them, and, tilting his head, he eyes her curiously. The empty sensation of his arms has him reaching forward to touch her, but before he can get there, she's already captured his hands.

Lifting them together, she brings his fingers to the top of her blouse, where the first button holds the fabric together. Cotton that is stained a dark crimson from her blood and it spurs him into action.

His fingers travel rapidly down the row of buttons, releasing her from the ruined shirt, exposing the skin of her chest. The dried blood surrounding the butterfly bandages remains painted across her neck, and he draws the material off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor behind her, before discarding her bra as well.

Looking around her bathroom, he reaches for a washcloth and runs it under the faucet. He has to clean the skin around her wound, remove the traces of blood before she steps into the bath, and as he turns, he catches sight of book resting on the table next to the tub.

His book.

* * *

"Have you been reading my books?"

Looking across to Rick as he leans against the bath's rim, his hands wringing out the washcloth he's pulled from her shelf, Kate attempts to catch up to his unexpected question. What books?

He pulls himself up, one hand clutching the now wet material, while his other points to the table that sits beside the bath. It's where she places her glass of wine, her phone so music can fill the silence, and whatever book she's reading.

_Oh_.

There are so many ways to deflect his question, avoid the truth that lies behind it, but as her eyes connect with his, the raw emotion brimming to the surface has her rethinking her choices. Of all the things Rick deserves, her honesty is one of them, especially when it comes to this.

"It was my mom's."

Moving back over to her, he brings the damp cloth to her neck, gently holds it to her skin, and she focuses on the wall behind him, searching for what to say.

"She'd gotten 'Deadly Storm' for Christmas, had managed to get through half of it before…"

His finger brushes across her bottom lip and her mouth closes. She'd already spoken of what happened next, and she smiles, just a little in gratitude, for not having to repeat it again.

"I finished it for her. And it changed my life. The passion, the desire for justice, it gave me hope when her murder remained unsolved."

It gave her the notion to become a detective, to find those things for herself, and even after she had let go of her own battle for closure, even after she had put his book into storage all those years ago, she still fights for those ideals - for others.

Moving over to the sink, he rinses the cloth, cleans her blood from it, and with his back to her, she hears him ask quietly, "Is that how you knew? When we first met, that I was Richard Castle."

"No. To be honest, when Montgomery introduced you as Rick Castle, I thought the name Castle sounded familiar. But it wasn't until after you'd tried to strangle Johnson, after we fought and you kicked me out of your hotel room, that it clicked."

He shifts back to her, returns to dab at her skin, and she finishes her story.

"Not because of what you did, but because that night I went through her things and found her book…"

And the rest is history. She'd shown up at his door and they'd shared their secrets in the dark.

"Can I ask-" Her fingers seize the thin fabric that he wears, his own shirt probably long gone given the amount of her blood that was on it, and she tugs it up, encourages him to take it off.

"Can I ask why you stopped? After- I can understand why you became a cop. But is that why you no longer write?"

Tossing the washcloth into the basin, he then reaches for the hem of his undershirt, takes it from her fingers and pulling it over his head, he lets it drop with hers on the floor.

"I had no words."

Her heart pounds against her ribs, the naked emotion in his tone hits hard against her chest, and she lists into him, before stretching on her toes to brush her lips across his as if she could somehow breathe them back into him.

Drawing away, his eyes drop as his fingers work to free the button of her pants, and she mimics his actions. The intensity between them blazes suddenly, the desperation to have skin on skin stealing all their attention until they are free, and, indicating for him to climb into the bath first, she settles against his front.

The water laps gently and a sense of calm cocoons them, taking the frantic hunger back down to a peaceful level and she allows her head to lean back on his shoulder, the pull of her bandages barely registering.

His ability to wipe her mind clear of anything but him, the sensation of his skin against her own, his fingers fitting between hers, his lips kissing the line of her neck, is all she can feel.

"I had no words, and people are quick to forget who you are once you step out of the limelight. And I was fortunate, I guess. I had royalties to live off, good investments that keep me going. Even Black Pawn was understanding of the situation. Left the door open if…"

Twisting around, she dots kisses across the arch of his cheekbone as she gathers the strength to ask.

"Do you ever think you'll try it again? Writing?"

His lips find hers, his tongue seeking entrance and she opens, grants him access, takes as much as she gives.

Grazing his nose along hers as they eventually drift apart, he settles his forehead against hers and her eyes close under the weight of his stare.

"I never thought so. But lately I can hear the words whispering, an idea forming, and…"

She pushes forward as his explanation tapers off, pushes all the hope she has for him, for them, against his mouth; kisses into him all that she cannot say.

* * *

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Thank you all for adding so much sunshine to my weekend xoxo

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Thank you to Jo (don't read this in front of me you'll make me nervous ;-) and Jamie (Wish you were here) for all your hard work on this story xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	13. Something

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Thirteen - Something**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Kate's hand slides across the sheets, draws them closer to her body, her head turning to bury deeper into the pillows. The bandage at her throat tugs, pulls at her skin as she attempts to move freely but can't, and suddenly everything comes into focus.

Yesterday - the knife at her neck, being sent home, Castle arriving.

Rolling over in her bed, a vast space greets her, flat plains instead of Rick, and dragging herself higher onto the pillows, she glances around the room. They both had their sleep interrupted when past memories collided with current events, but she's surprised that he had managed to leave at some point this morning without waking her.

She pushes herself into a sitting position and stretches, both hands extending high in the air, before standing and padding out into the kitchen. And there, in the center of the counter is her coffee cup, beside it her French Press - a scoop of coffee grounds already in it - and a little jug of creamer.

Impressive.

Boiling the water, she smiles at the sentiment. Over the last few weeks, it has become a thing between them - Castle bringing a coffee for her each morning. It started because of how horrible the precinct's percolated tar is, but it's somehow evolved into something so much more.

Almost a reflection of them.

Her fingers trace around the rim of her red and white striped porcelain mug as she waits for the water to boil. Rick's obviously done this in an attempt to start her day off in the best way, even if he's already at work. He would have had to search, too - the French Press was hidden away in an obscure cupboard. And she didn't even think she had any coffee.

But there beside her stovetop is an unfamiliar bag of beans. Her heart kicks hard at that. That he went searching, would have had to run down to the corner store or have them delivered, all just to ensure that the first thing she did upon waking was smile.

It's then that the piece of paper under the mug catches her attention, and reaching to free it, she brings it to her chest. There's a weight to it, not the paper itself but the words that are on it. Even without looking she can feel the moment, the hitch in her breathing, the tightening of her muscles as she reacts to what he could have written before leaving for the day.

In the shadows of last night he had mapped her body, whispered words too quietly for her to hear, worshipped her gently, and, as she shattered under his touch, the broken pieces of each of them somehow found their way back together.

Maybe it is possible for the two same halves to fit together. Yin and yin.

Sinking into the sofa, she bends her knees, bringing them to her chest. Her fingers ghost across the smooth surface, before she opens the folded piece of the paper and like a flower revealing its hidden secrets on the first day of spring, Rick's words appear between her trembling fingers.

_I can be your yang when you need to be yin. _

_But I can't be nothing, when I'm starting to feel something._

Her thumb traces over the Taijitu symbol he's drawn at the bottom of the page, while her gaze travels over the two lines again and again. It's not until she reads for the fifth time that she realizes the meaning of the second sentence. Before everything had gone to hell with the prison break she'd told the boys that it was nothing. That where she had spent the night - in Rick's arms - was nothing, and her head drops to the V of her knees.

She'd been so focused on getting changed, getting back into detective mode after breakfast with Rick, that she hadn't been aware of what she was implying. His display of odd behavior, the unexpected cold shoulder, all makes horrible sense.

He'd taken her words at face value, had jumped to the wrong conclusions, and as she examines the paper once more, she starts to form a plan. He'd used his words, taken a risk and put his heart on the line by leaving her this note, and for the first time she has to step up rather than step away.

Standing again, she pours the boiling water into the French Press with unsteady hands. She'll find a way to show him that he's not the only one who is starting to feel something.

* * *

Dropping the bag of take-out onto Esposito's desk, Beckett waits for his reaction. Sure enough, his head jerks up, surprised eyes making contact with hers, and she smirks at his expression.

"What are you doing here?"

She shrugs her shoulder, and walking around him, she deposits Ryan's onto his desk.

"It's after lunch."

"It's eleven."

Glaring, she heads toward her own area and Castle's - she's never noticed before but the two desks facing each other create the perfect square - where she puts down the rest of the bags, ensuring that the flat, heavy box sits front and center on top of his space.

"Yes and once you eat your lunch, it will be 'after lunch', so- eat."

Espo gives her a snort of amusement at that, and leaning against Castle's chair, she glances across the semi-quiet bullpen.

"He's in tech." Apparently forgetting all manners, Esposito speaks around the mouthful of Chinese, and her face twists as she witnesses the chewing process.

"Who is?"

"Your partner."

Nodding her thanks, she pushes off from the chair to walk over to where the computer equipment is set up. He's there, eyes focused on the screen and through the horizontal lines of the blind, she pauses, lets herself enjoy the increase in her heartbeat, the smile that is begging for release.

There's an intensity as she looks at him with new eyes, an electricity that flows across her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. It's always been inside, smothered deep down as denial covered the sensation, but now - she basks in it all. All of him. All the possibilities.

Rapping on the edge of the wall, she enters without waiting for him to reply, and she's glad she did. The joy that lights his face, the way his eyes widen as he glances up and down quickly, the flash of teeth as he smiles, makes her morning all the more wonderful.

Damn, she's sappy today.

"Hey, I like the scarf." His finger twirls twice in her direction, pointing to the deep royal blue silk she'd added to her neckline while getting ready for work, and she lifts a shoulder.

"It's the first week of May. I could hardly wear a turtle neck."

Stepping toward her, he drifts his fingers over the material and she holds still, fights to keep her eyelids open under his touch. Memories of last night bring the blood within her veins to an almighty accelerando, every part of her jumping, vibrating, from being so close to him and it gives her the courage she needs to start.

"I got your note."

His head dips, and staring at his fingers, he appears unable, or unwilling to react to her words and it leaves her with little choice but to go on.

Step up, not step back.

"I'm your partner-"

"I got it. Don't worry." Cutting across her sentence, he turns as he speaks, and heading back over to the desk, he slumps onto its edge.

Doubt flares deep in her stomach, creating a roll of nausea, a wave that has her grasping for the nearest surface. She needs something to hold her up or the tremors in her soul will travel to her legs and she will fall in a heap.

Did she get this all wrong?

"Castle?"

"I said don't worry about it."

But she is, because his words are now etched permanently on her heart, and they had made her brave, and this can't be how their story finishes – without even starting.

"I thought… Don't you want something?" As she says each word, her newfound strength wavers until her voice is barely a whisper and her eyes close in defeat. This morning had held such promise, and now - it's all dissolving before her and she can't work out why.

"It doesn't matter what I want. We can be partners. It's fine."

Her eyes snap wide as his brush off hits hard, but she has an explanation at least - he's misunderstood her again, and it returns the fire in her belly, the passion to her resolve.

Standing tall, she stalks across the room until she is in front of him and giving him no choice but to look at her or turn away, she places her heart on the line.

"I'm your partner. And I don't want to lose that. I won't because I like working with you. And we make one hell of a team." Lifting her hands, she tucks the loose strands of hair behind her ears, her head dipping under the weight. She's no good at this part, finding the words to explain the tangled mess that is her.

"But, I feel it too, Rick, the something we can be. And I don't know where that leaves us."

His fingers slide along her jaw, cup the angle of her cheek, and the tenderness in his touch leaves her listing toward him.

Bringing a hand up, she drifts her fingers across his, until, settling into the grooves between his knuckles, she covers him as best she can. This is the reason she is willing to walk the fine line between partners and lovers, because under his touch she feels anchored to the ground while soaring alongside the clouds.

"This is the first time I've felt like I could belong in a precinct. Espo and Ryan, for all the jokes and hazing, they're…" His throat constricts, his muscles pulling tight as he swallows and her stare remains transfixed on the movement, unable to elevate and connect with his eyes.

Stepping up can only go so far, and this is far more than she'd ever expected their conversation to contain.

"Whether we are trading theories, or simply sharing a meal, Kate, I feel alive. I feel like- this is as close to home as I've been in a long time."

Silence stretches, their thumbs ghosting across each other's while resting on her cheek, as the electricity builds until she is sure the lights will begin flickering in anticipation.

Pushing her tongue out, she runs it along her bottom lip, the sudden parchment of her mouth drying any response. There are words that would explain what is coursing through her, she just doesn't have them, has never been about the words. She's always let her actions speak for her.

The noise of the handle turning as the door opens has them both jumping apart, and moving as one, they look toward Esposito as he enters.

Right. They're in the precinct.

Esposito's stare slowly travels between them, no doubt taking note of the guilty expression she is positive lines not only her face, but Castle's as well, and she straightens under the scrutiny, hardens her features.

It almost becomes a dare - who will break first?

"Montgomery wants to see you, Beckett." Holding eye contact for longer than necessary, Espo backs out of the room, leaving the door open, and she angles her head, her forehead furrowed as she hesitantly takes in Castle.

He's nodding to himself, to an internal dialogue she can't hear, and at the risk of blowing all their progress out of the water, she has to ask. "Are we… okay?"

Smiling, his cheeks push high as he beams at her, his delight at - Them? The situation? Their ability to 'kind of' talk? - lights up the room, removing all shadows, and she returns the action automatically.

"We're good. I think we're gonna be great."

Happiness has her wanting to twirl in circles, dance around the room as if she were a teenager again, but she resists the urge to embarrass herself completely, pulling away instead. She has to get to their captain's office after all.

Glancing over her shoulder, she takes one last look before slipping into detective mode, and what she sees leaves her chuckling. With his hands elevated above his head, his ass resting precariously on the edge of the desk, his ankles crossed, he fist pumps the sky in celebration.

"Castle."

His whole body shifts as she catches him out, and putting on an air of laid back and relaxed, he lifts an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Discreet. Very, very discreet."

Winking, he folds his arms over his chest, his features schooling into a mask of subtly and she almost applauds the transformation until the next words out of his mouth have her rolling her eyes.

"Like ninjas. Ooooh, we're ninja dating!"

Oh. Geez. What has she started?

* * *

Riding the euphoria over his talk with Kate, Rick leaves the tech room behind. The chances of him actually concentrating are about none, especially given that he is sure that he could smell lunch wafting from the bullpen when Espo had interrupted them.

The sight of Ryan scarfing down Chinese makes him walk a little faster, his stomach rumbling eagerly as he approaches his own take-out bag on the desk, but as he settles into his chair, a large rectangular box steals his attention.

His fingers glide over the smooth surface, the anticipation of what could be inside slows his movements as he savors the feeling, the rush that comes with the unexpected. It's like Christmas morning, after everything is opened, and out of the blue you find one more gift behind the sofa with your name on it.

It's been too many years since he's celebrated Christmas. Since he's celebrated anything.

Catching the lid with his fingertips, he gradually lifts it, but before he can expose an inch of its secrets, a crisp white piece of paper escapes, landing on his desk.

Kate's neat handwriting is what registers first, before her sentences clue him in to what is inside.

_For your words. Somewhere for them to be free._

He's shoving the lid aside, all sense of treasuring the moment abolished with her heartfelt note, and his heart jumps within his chest.

It's a laptop, sleek and black, a place for him to write, and he can't breathe.

Before last night she'd joked about his lack of technology, how he'd refused to buy one. He'd given the flimsy excuse that he didn't require such a device when he was surrounded by computers at the precinct if he got desperate.

But now - she'd heard him when he confessed that the words were whispering to him once again, yet more than that, she'd comprehended what that meant. She's shown him that he is not alone when it comes to the feelings blossoming inside, has taken it upon herself to give him a place to put his thoughts, his words, should they need to be written.

And already his fingers are itching to touch the keys, the images in his mind pushing for release. There was an idea and now, there is a story.

Because of her.

* * *

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Thank you all for making the end of my weekend so full of smiles and squeals of joy with your reviews xoxo

My apologies for not getting back to you individually, the two day frequency is removing my replying day :/

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Which brings me to the next issue. I wanted this finished before the end of Season six *sob* but that's not going to happen with five more chapters to go, but I will be doing them every two days if that's good for the majority of readers? I am hoping ficathon fever will start in my brain once this is completed (I have issues concentrating on two stories at once - plus everything else in life, lol.)

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All the flails got to Jo and Jamie for their work on whipping this into shape. So very much appreciated xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	14. Moving forward

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Fourteen - Moving forward**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

The buzzing from the phone shatters the silence of her sleep, and, as Kate drags a heavy hand across her eyes, she reaches with her other, fingers blindly turning off the noise. Peace settles onto her bedroom once again and she rolls over, buries her head as the whisper of dreams calls her back.

A vibrating rattle sounds this time. The hum of the phone dancing across the surface of the bedside table alerts her moments before the alarm goes off, and she groans into the pillow.

Stretching across the sheets, there is nothing but more material, and her hand begins thumping the mattress as if the up and down movement will help conjure up the missing cell.

"Would you like me to turn that off?"

Rick's words float across the bedroom, humor lacing them, and as the rasp of his morning voice travels, it creates a path of boiling liquid in her toes, which quickly floods her entire body. It doesn't matter how often he is here, every morning with him holds the same thrill, the same allure that it held the first morning he ever stayed here, after her throat was cut.

Shifting onto her back, the sheets pooling low on her hips, she raises both arms above her head, stretching. With purpose, she pulls at her sleep shirt, flashing a strip of skin across her abdomen, just for him.

"I'm up."

His smile expands as he crosses the space between them, stalks over to his side of the bed and sitting, he picks up the phone, shutting the alarm off.

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

Laughing quietly, she wiggles a hand to his hip, uses the tips of her fingers to tease his skin at the waist of his jeans. She scrapes lines into his flesh with the flat edge of her nail, marking him just because she can.

"How come you're awake already?"

She focuses on her hand, inches it closer and closer to see if he is already up, but before she can find out exactly how awake he is, he's already trapped her, dragging her off his skin and out of his clothes.

"Just getting some words out."

He raises her hand within his, interlocks their fingers as he brings them as one to his lips, and with a closed mouth he places kiss after kiss onto her knuckles. She doesn't ask for any more details after his explanation; she's just thankful that he is getting them out. And while it remains a mystery to her - she hasn't seen a word of his writing - he is _writing_. He's been typing steadily for months, carving out time in the dark of the night, or in the early light of the morning, and it creates such joy in him. And in her.

She helped do this. Even if all she did was buy him a laptop so he had somewhere to write, she played a small part in getting him back into the fictional world and she couldn't be more proud.

Tugging on his hand, she pulls their connected fingers away from his mouth and steers them toward her own. It's her turn to lavish him with kisses and she does so, until her phone buzzes for the third time. Snooze time is over.

It's time to get up and get this day started.

* * *

"Have you seen my blue turtleneck?"

Kate's muffled question has him turning away from the stove, and his gaze lands on her as she streaks past him. With a towel wrapped snugly across her chest, the hem barely covering her most glorious ass, both of her hands rub another towel through her hair, drying it, and his eyes absorb the sight before him.

"It was in the laundry I did last night. Should be hanging with the shirts."

Flinging the towel onto the sofa - the one from her head unfortunately - she changes directions swiftly, plants a brief kiss on his cheek before leaving him in search of her missing clothes, and he stands, transfixed as she disappears around the doorway.

"Rick. Pancakes."

Shit.

He pivots, nose wrinkling at the scent of burnt batter, and huffing to himself, he slides this lot into the bin before starting another round. It's hardly his fault though. How is he supposed to concentrate when she's running around practically naked?

Especially when the price he pays for getting up in the early hours is to miss out on the taste of her upon waking. It's a sacrifice that he will rectify at some point throughout today, although with paperwork awaiting them, it won't be until tonight – worse luck.

Sadly, enjoying life is forever interrupted by work.

"Did you burn breakfast?"

Looking over his shoulder, his glance catches sight of her - this time fully dressed unfortunately - her cheeks lifting high as she beams at him, teeth flashing. She's not a detective for nothing, and she knows the answer to her question. He plays along though, glares in response and points at the batch he's currently cooking. This lot hasn't burned - yet. Grabbing at the pan, he flips them just in time, and that sets her off. She laughs, her long, damp curls falling forward as her head dips down, her shoulders shaking and he fights against the urge to use the spatula to swat at her rear.

It's not that funny. It's also not the first time he's destroyed breakfast while distracted by her.

"I can eat all of these on my own, you know."

"I know. But then think of all the exercise you would need to do to burn off all those calories."

Groaning at the images of just how he could work off the excess intake, he turns to concentrate on the last three pancakes, expertly sliding them onto the awaiting plates. He always looks forward to mornings when they have enough time to sit and eat properly, rather than rushing to a body drop.

Kate shifts around him, grasping both plates, but before she can head toward the table, he swoops in for a kiss.

The sensation of his back pocket vibrating has his hips thrusting into hers before the ringing follows and it all leaves him grunting in irritation.

Wanting to sit down together for breakfast and take their time to enjoy a moment was clearly asking too much of the universe.

* * *

Kate lifts the same sofa cushion that she had lifted not thirty seconds earlier, as if her keys will magically appear with the second look, but as expected, there's nothing there but lint.

"We can just lock up your place with my set."

Normally she'd appreciate the way he removes the irritability from a situation with a humorous remark, but right now, she just wants to find the goddamn keys.

"_Oh_. I know what to get you for your birthday. One of those things that beeps when you lose them."

Snapping her head up, her body becomes frozen at the implication of his words.

Not the idea of him getting her a gift - that's just sweet - but that he's made a note of when her birthday is. It's not for another three weeks, and before then there's another milestone to be marked.

Next week is the ninth anniversary of Alexis' death.

He'd withdrawn during the first half of October on what would have been her eighteenth birthday - understandably, she is no better during January - and she had stood patiently at his side, waiting to be there for whatever he needed.

One stormy night, he had quietly let himself in, and finding her underneath the comforter, he'd fallen into her arms. She'd held him tight as he'd sobbed, her own tears mixing with his.

Will she be enough this time?

"You don't have to get me anything."

Joining his eyes with hers, they stare at each other tentatively. There's no protocol for this kind of situation, and it's hard to know what to say next. This isn't the first time they've had to work out just how to define themselves over the last six months; the balance of maintaining a partnership at work and a relationship at home has taken time, effort, and patience. But they'll make their way through - they always do.

"I don't have to. But I want to."

He smiles, a soft uplift of his lips, and like so many times of late, her heart expands more than she'd ever thought possible. Dropping her gaze, her shoes suddenly so very interesting, she hides herself for a moment, the unexpected shyness that comes with his declaration flushing her skin heatedly.

She loves him. Even if she hasn't found a way, just yet, to tell him; to tell him all the ways that he has changed her life, that he's been a major part of her finding her balance. She hadn't even realized how unsteady she was until she'd found it. Found him.

Squaring her shoulders back, pushing all of her emotions into the treasured basket within her heart that holds all of these sacred pieces of time, she covers the distance between them quickly.

With both hands, she grabs the material at his hips, forms two fists, and using the leverage and her heels, she propels her body into his, her mouth hard, almost frantic as she kisses him. She may not be able to express herself with words, but she has other ways to communicate.

His lips widen, well-practiced in the art of bringing her to her knees, and she breathes him in, draws him into her mouth as her tongue slides into the furnace that awaits. It is a blaze that leaves her moaning as the intensity of them takes hold.

"Work." He murmurs the intrusion as he withdraws slightly, and pleasure most certainly becomes displeasure at the reality of their situation; they should already be on their way to a body drop.

"Later?" Of course there will be, but she still seeks out the promise.

"Definitely."

* * *

"What do you have for us, Lanie?"

Beckett gets straight to the point as they approach the crime scene. The green grass underfoot crunches as the chill sets into their bones, but Castle's gaze isn't on their medical examiner. It's not even on their victim, who lies propped against the trunk of a tree, half concealed by the shrubs that have grown in its shadow.

There are more people here than normal, and the hair on his neck is standing on end.

"_We_ have a twenty-six year old, female. Cause of death appears to be a single bullet to the chest. Close range, too."

"And what does everyone else have?"

He comes to a stop next to his partner, makes eye contact with Lanie as she rises from her crouched position next to the body.

"You noticed that, huh?" Glancing around, she nods as if to herself, before focusing back on them. "Our victim was a nanny, was supposed to be walking back from the park yesterday afternoon with an eight year old girl."

Closing his eyelids, just for a fraction of a second as the air around him disappears, he attempts to steady the thrashing in his chest, attempts to inhale when there's nothing to breathe in.

A finger twirls its way around his thumb, squeezes him tight before disappearing, and it's enough to bring him back into himself, to bring him back to the now.

What did he ever do before she came into his life?

"Are the Feds handling the potential kidnapping angle?" Showing no sign that she is anything but Detective Beckett, she begins walking around the crime scene, clearly taking in all the details as she eyes the parkland.

"Yes." Lanie lifts the clear bag containing a wallet, the young woman's driver's license easily identifiable through the plastic. "ID was still in her pocket. Espo and Ryan were first to arrive. The Feds descended as soon as a link to the missing girl was made."

Curling his hand into a fist, he stares at Kate as she continues to move around the area, her eyes scanning for any clue, any odd sock, and if he can just hold on to the thread that exists between them, the way everything is a little bit easier when she is there, he can do this.

He can work a case like this and still hold it all together.

He can.

* * *

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Thank you. There is sooooooooo much happy dancing that occurs when I read your beautiful words of support xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all their hard work xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	15. Stepping back

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Fifteen - Stepping back**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Beckett turns the key of the cruiser and the motor comes to a stop. The silence inside the car, the stillness from her partner, stretches across to the driver's seat until she is drowning in it. Of all the cases, of all the weeks, why did they have to be assigned a dead nanny and a missing child now?

"I can talk to the O'Connors by myself. Or get Esposito and Ryan to handle it." Drawing the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, she stares straight ahead at her hands as they encircle the steering wheel, her fingers blanching white with the pressure she is placing them under. The pressure she is placing herself under. "You don't have to interview the parents, Rick."

The _nothing_ that comes from the passenger seat, not a word, or a movement, leaves her inhaling deeply, sucking in as much courage as she can. Angling her head to her right, she stares at the side of his, and waits.

She can be here, can wait quietly for him, at least for a minute or two.

They do have a job to do though.

"I'll be fine." His mouth contorts for a fleeting moment, half smile - half grimace, and giving a sharp nod of his head, he turns to face her. "I can do this- Just…"

Reaching over the center console, his fingers hover above her thigh, and, dropping her hand, Kate squeezes. She's gentle, barely contracts her hand before wiggling her fingers into the small spaces between each of his, and, interlocking them, she joins them as one.

Time stretches as they sit soundlessly, and it morphs reality, makes it appear as if several minutes have passed, but, as Castle presses his fingers against hers before withdrawing them, a check of her father's watch shows that really it has only been one.

Opening the passenger door, he leaves the car, but she lingers for a moment longer, watching him through the glass.

Trepidation crawls its way up her spine, tightens the muscles of her shoulders, creates a thumping between her eyes as a headache begins, and her first impulse is to exit, grab ahold of him and drag him back in. She could drive away; take them somewhere. Anywhere but here.

This has trouble written all over it.

* * *

Walking through the O'Connors' open front door it strikes him how normal it all looks. The shoes in rows on the porch, the welcome mat underfoot, the photographs that line the entrance wall.

Everything - the colors, the furnishings - is bright, shiny. Alive. That won't last, not if their little girl doesn't come home.

Once upon a time, he'd had this. Pictures of his life had adorned the grand piano, the kitchen counter was home to school projects awaiting his opinion; his loft had been full of love, laughter, life.

It only takes a moment for it all to change.

"Who are you?"

Pulling himself out of the past, he stares at the FBI agent before him, the dark suit and squared shoulders a giveaway, and shifting his jacket, Rick flashes him the badge at his hip.

"Detective Castle. And this is Detective Beckett. We're here about the nanny."

"Agent Stevens. FBI."

"Any leads on the missing girl?" Lifting an eyebrow, Beckett looks at the Fed, but Castle can tell her attention is already past the man in front of them, is doing exactly what he was doing not a minute ago. She's making note of every detail, recording all the information that nobody else notices, and later they will combine the pieces to complete the puzzle.

It's what they do best. At least during work hours.

"None. The parents are in the sitting room."

Flicking a thumb down to the right, Stevens indicates to the doorway, and, together they nod their heads in thanks. The respect that he has for the agent isn't expressed with words, but offering a sympathetic smile, Castle follows Beckett as she heads toward the O'Connors.

He has been on both sides of the fence and the grass isn't greener, regardless of where you stand.

"I understand that the FBI has taken your statement. But we are here about your nanny, Erin." Beckett begins the interview as he stares across the coffee table, the sharp white lines of the clinical décor are jarring, and he attempts to get a read on the parents.

Mrs. O'Connor smiles in response, but her expression is fraught with exhaustion. "Anything we can do to-"

The ringing of a cell slices through her platitude, and Castle's attention jerks to Mr. O'Connor. He's reaching into the pocket of his jacket, bringing the phone to his ear, and as a group, they collectively hold their breath, even with the Feds storming in through the doorway at the noise.

If this is a kidnapping, this could be their lead.

"Hello."

The room becomes a vacuum, Mr. O'Connor drawing everyone's focus, and, the pressure inside Castle has him curling his fingers, creating a fist. The pain of his nails digging into his flesh barely registers as he waits, they all wait, for what seems like a lifetime.

The phone calls are hell. They hold such possibility until the moment that they are answered and what could be becomes reality. And reality was never what Rick wanted to hear. The dashing of hope was dreadful, until the news that there was no hope. That was indescribable.

"No. No, I'm not coming into the office today. I thought the memo went out."

Like a deflating balloon, everyone's shoulders sag, bodies slumping, and Rick lowers his head under the weight of what is lost. Although, it could have been worse. So much worse.

Filing out of the room, the FBI leave, and shoving all of his own experiences away, Castle redirects his concentration back to the O'Connors.

"Look, I might be able to swing past later this afternoon, with any luck this will all be over. I need to get on top of the merger, anyhow."

Rick's upright, three strides toward Mr. O'Connor, when Beckett calls out his name, and he falters for a fraction, stumbling. The sound of her voice is enough to bring him back to himself - reminds him why he is here and why he has no choice but to control himself.

Grabbing ahold of a victim's father and knocking the shit out of him isn't okay.

He has both been there and done that, and was lucky not to lose his job.

"Mr. O'Connor. Very sorry to interrupt but I can assure you that it won't be over this afternoon. While everything is being done to find your daughter, we're still investigating Erin's murder."

Aiming to keep his tone neutral, supportive, he still throws a quick glance toward Beckett. Her expression is tight, lips thin, eyes darting between where he and Mr. O'Connor stand, just a few feet apart, but she doesn't appear panicked.

He's pulled it off. For now.

* * *

"Mr. O'Conner, please, have a seat." Indicating with her hand to the chair he's just vacated, Kate pauses, arm outstretched. Castle at least, sits down next to her again, although his body remains coiled, spoiling for a fight. Understandably, there's a tension in the room, the anxiety palatable, but their interview has to go on.

"I don't need to be told to sit down in my own home."

Her eyes widen, her jaw opening before she snaps it shut. Each person handles grief and stress in their own way and she's not here to judge; the guy's an asshole but his daughter has been kidnapped, and she has no doubt that at least half of his responses have been attempts to reclaim normality. She does however, place her hand between herself and Castle, god forbid he leap off the sofa again and she's forced to hold him back.

"How long has Erin been your nanny?"

"Nearly two years. She takes care of Leanne before and after school." Mrs. O'Connors' fingers tremble as she answers and Kate nods, grateful to be moving forward; continuing with their usual questions, she's not shocked to hear the standard answers.

Everything was fine. No complaints with Erin's work. No concerns about her.

She's heard it all before.

"What about Erin's home life? Did she have a boyfriend, any friends that could be helpful?"

"She's hired help. Why would we worry ourselves with that?"

Joining in on their conversation for the first time, Mr. O'Connor looks up from his phone. He's been pacing back and forth behind his wife, ignoring their questions until now, but, as Kate swallows down her retort, he positions himself next to the coffee table.

"Look. We've been accommodating enough. And while this is horrible, we need to focus on our daughter and getting her back."

Castle stands, her hand too late to snag his pants, and she hastily mimics him, makes it appear that they are presenting a united front, that she's not worried about his behavior in any way.

"The more information we have to solve Erin's murder, to find your daughter, the quicker this will be resolved, and you can go back to work once more."

There are nothing but steel edges in Castle's tone, and her eyes close for a moment; he's personalizing this and while she can't blame him, they have to leave - now - before something more regrettable is said.

"Thank you for your time. If you can think of anything that could help, whether it's about Erin, or your daughter, please call us."

Pulling out one of her business cards, Kate holds it out for Mrs. O'Connor, situates herself between her partner and Mr. O'Connor, creating a buffer to prevent any more ill-mannered comments from exiting either of their mouths.

With a shaky hand, Mrs. O'Connor takes it from her fingers, offers a resigned smile, and Beckett returns the gesture, before placing a hand to Rick's bicep, the muscle a knotted ball underneath her fingers, and she ushers him out of the room.

"I need you to be honest with me, Castle," she starts, when they make it out to the front yard. "I need to know if you can keep it all under control. Because…"

Stalking away from her, he moves to stand next to the car. His head is bent, shoulders a hard line and her fingers ache to touch him, to run her hands along the constricted muscle, to knead away the tension inside of him.

"No one will think any less of you if you need to walk away."

She certainly won't.

He doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge her in any way, just opens the door, and sits down in the passenger seat, staring ahead, his eyes glazed with a past she understands all too well.

* * *

Perching herself onto the edge of the desk, Beckett faces the murder board, her fingers tapping one after the other against her thigh in a constant rhythm. The photo of Erin is front and center as Castle places himself next to her.

"Hey."

She angles her head, lips curving into a smile at his greeting. The car ride back to the precinct was a long one, each unable to find the words needed to break the shroud of silence. It wasn't helped when Castle headed straight to the bathroom, and it took all her self-restraint not to go in and make sure that he was okay.

"I made you a coffee."

Placing a hand against his thigh, Kate creates some stability, and arching back, her fingers catch the handle, pulling the warm cup across his desk. As she brings it to him, Castle's hand covers her fingers where they grip his leg, and it's only then does it become apparent what she has done.

She's normally much better at being discreet, and she brushes her actions aside, withdrawing her hand quickly while holding out the cup of coffee for him.

"Thank you."

He takes it from her gently, wraps both hands around the porcelain before raising the cup to his mouth for a sip. She should say something, ensure that he is all right, but the "Are you okay?" remains unsaid.

She despised hearing that after her mother's murder. To this day, she cringes when people ask her this, but the right words for their situation are eluding her, and she closes her eyes.

Maybe saying nothing at all will still be enough for him?

Inhaling deeply, she returns to the board before her, reiterates the tiny bit of evidence they have. As if saying it enough times in her head will shake something loose. They have nothing but questions and no one willing to answer them. And if that wasn't enough a little girl is out there.

Hopefully waiting to be rescued.

"So Ryan and I went through our victim's apartment and came up empty handed."

Beckett jerks a fraction, surprised at the out of the blue statement, and as Esposito cuts through her melancholy, she places both feet on the ground to heave herself up. Raising an eyebrow, she waits for a better explanation, ignores the throbbing in her forehead at the notion that they still have no break in the case.

"It was organized, clean, but seriously lacking with the personal touches. No photos. No computer. No cell." Shrugging both shoulders, Esposito tilts his head toward Erin's photo. "This nanny had some life problems. As in she had no life."

"There must be some type of digital fingerprint out there?"

"Don't know what to tell you, Beckett. But as far as we can tell she didn't have a thing."

Catapulting himself off his desk, Castle stands, and as his shoulder sweeps past hers, he glares down at Espo. If they were anywhere else she would grab ahold of his hand, interweave their fingers, try to calm him down, but they are here, at work.

"There has to be something about her that got her killed. Some reason for an eight year old girl to disappear into thin air."

Each of Castle's words escalate in volume, and she edges sideways, bumps into him as she tries to get his attention. It works; for a second, he sets his fiery expression on her before Esposito opens his mouth and destroys her attempt.

"It's been nearly twenty-four hours, whatever chance that girl had, I'd guess it's just about gone."

* * *

There's a part of him that knows Esposito is not being cold; he's being realistic. But from the moment their breakfast was interrupted this morning everything about the day has been nothing but a reminder of Alexis, and he snaps, grabbing the material of Esposito's jacket within his tight fists.

"Castle- Rick!"

Kate's voice in his ear is a bucket of cold water; every part of him is drenched and he sags under the panic in her tone. Letting go of Javier, he stumbles back, hands falling to his side. It's then that Kate's fingers encircle his wrist, and tugging sharply, she leaves him no choice but to follow her as she strides out of the bullpen.

He's screwed up, royally. He had one goal today and that was to make it through without losing his cool and he's just gone and attacked one of his teammates - one of his friends - over a simple comment.

Trailing after Kate as she turns into a barely used corridor, his feet trip over themselves as he sees where they are. It's the same passage that she had dragged him to all those months ago when she first saw him lose control of his temper, and his shoulders slump further.

He should be better at this by now.

"I'm sorry."

There are so many things that he is sorry for. He's not good enough for her, not able to be the solid ground that she deserves. Stable. Steady. Settled. Kate is worth all of these things and he's… none of them.

"I'm sorry, and I'll apologize to Espo. I'll explain my past to the boys. I should have done it long ago. They should hear the truth."

The truth that he couldn't keep his daughter alive, that he is not worth their time, that he should move on, get out of their lives.

Out of her life.

* * *

Kate paces back and forth along the empty corridor.

She's at a loss at what to say now, how to pull him out of the rabbit hole. It's pulling him down and if she doesn't act soon, the tentative hold she has won't be enough to keep him from slipping through her fingers.

Listening to his halting apology rocks her back on her heels, and turning to face him, she sees the toll of this case - this week - etched into the lines of his face, and as he speaks of telling the boys, every rational thought flees her mind.

She was supposed to be standing by his side through this and she's somehow failed to be there for him.

"Hey. It's okay. It's going to be okay."

Her fingers drift across the ridge of his cheekbones, her thumbs settling into the black half circles that have been increasing, more prominent with each passing night of restless sleep and all night writing binges. Bringing a knee between his, she pushes her body into him, their hips nudging, her shoulders pressing into his chest as she sandwiches him against the wall, tries to hold him together by sheer pressure alone.

"Espo will understand. And if you want I can tell them. Tell them whatever you want me to." The words trip over each other in her desperation to get them out. She will do anything to make it all right. Make him all right.

"Go home. Do some writing… Just." She's grasping at straws. "I'll hand the case over to the boys, and deal-" She'll need to deal with the fallout of his actions, but she can do that, do this for him. "I'll be home as soon as I can, okay."

Tears well on his lower lids, and she can feel his pain leeching from his skin, and her heart rockets into her throat.

They'll be okay. They have to be.

"I'm sorry, Kate."

Her head shakes back and forth, strands of her hair obstructing her vision, before his fingers catch ahold of them, tucking them back behind her ears.

"No. It's my fault, Rick. I should never have let you be on this case. It's-"

His mouth descends, silencing the end of her sentence, and, as his lips widen against her own, she melts into the sensation.

Maybe everything is falling to pieces around them, but they are still standing, they still have each other, and threading her fingers through his hair, she pulls him closer.

They will be okay.

"Detectives!"

Beckett jerks backward, her body twisting out of Castle's arms. Her eyes widen as she faces the intrusion, her shocked stare clashing with Montgomery's, but it's not the sight of him that has her breath deserting her lungs.

It hadn't been his familiar voice that shattered their moment, and breaking her eye contact, she looks past Montgomery to the figure standing in his shadow. The Chief of Detectives is glaring at her and Castle, his face pulsating red.

Of all the people she never wanted to see in this situation, he is at the top of her list.

This is the rotten cherry on top of one very bad day.

* * *

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All the flails for all the wonderful words of support. Thank you so much for continuing on this ride as we slide into the final corner of events. Xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for the late nights and early mornings and of course the beta xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	16. Choices

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Sixteen - Choices**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

.

* * *

The walls that form Montgomery's office pull closer with each passing second. Castle and Beckett have been standing here, side by side for at least ten minutes, as they wait for their captain to return, and Castle is sure that if something or someone doesn't break the silence soon, he's going to shatter into pieces.

Inhaling, he makes an effort to be loud, as if the sound whistling through his nose will make a difference to the pressure inside the room.

It's hardly surprising when it doesn't work.

The quiet continues as he holds his breath before exhaling, the air rushing past his lips.

Lips that can still taste her across their surface.

They were caught. Not just had their relationship exposed, but were seen kissing in the precinct, and his shoulders drop with the guilt. It's been building, weighted blocks descending as they both stare straight ahead, and the compression is gradually pushing him down to the ground.

This is his fault. This is all is fault.

He would turn to Kate, plead his case, tell her how sorry he is for putting her into such a position, to be caught by not only their captain, but also the Chief of Detectives. He would beg for forgiveness, explain that he would do anything to make this right. He would do all this… yet fear holds him back.

What if this is it? The moment that she wakes up, looks around and sees exactly what she is doing. What if this is when she works out that he is nothing but a walking disaster, that everything he touches, he destroys. Nothing can survive him.

Not his daughter. Not the woman he loves.

His eyes close, shutting out the world at that - love. It was a concept, an ideal that he abandoned, let go, but he found her, fought for her, and now…

What if he loses Kate before he ever had a chance to tell her that he loves her?

* * *

There has to be a way out of this mess, a way to fix everything. Fix the situation. Fix them. Kate stares straight ahead, eyes locked with the family photograph that sits proudly on top of Montgomery's desk, and it gives her the courage to keep searching for a solution.

For the first time since that cold, bitter night in January, she was starting to allow her dreams in. A future, a life, maybe even marriage and a family. She loves the man beside her. And she should have told him, whispered the words while wrapped in his arms, the dark of the night protecting them. Or maybe she should have surprised him while they made dinner, blurted it out as they bumped against each other while working in tandem to create their meal.

Why didn't she tell him?

What if this is all they get?

The door of Montgomery's office opens, and a rush of noise from the bullpen floods the room before he shuts the door behind him. He doesn't approach, instead moves to stand in front of the window that separates them from those going about their day as if it's just like any other.

Her lips twist at that. The rumors will have already started. Gossip in the precinct spreads like a children's game of Telephone, and as Montgomery begins closing the blinds, concealing them from prying eyes, her heart crashes to the soles of her rather expensive shoes.

It's bad out there, and it makes the situation even worse for them in here.

Even though her mind hasn't stopped racing, she's holding nothing but blank pieces of paper, no idea how she is going to get out of this mess intact.

Shifting past them, Montgomery rounds his desk, drawing his chair back and with a huff, he collapses into it. His elbows settle onto the flat surface, hands rubbing over his face, as if rubbing the day away.

If only it were that easy. It only she could wiggle her nose and magically change today. She would have ignored their phones, enjoyed pancakes at the counter, maybe called in sick so they could make use of the syrup for much more enjoyable purposes.

If only…

"Sir." Swallowing hard, her voice cracking on her first attempt, she tries again. "Sir, we-"

Montgomery lifts a hand. His palm faces her as he leans back into the chair. With eyes only half open he peers at her, his face vacant of all tells, and his silence is deafening.

"Do you think I'm a good captain? Have the skills needed to be in this position?" He's staring at her as he asks, and Beckett feels the skin on her forehead pull tight as her eyebrows draw together over what he's asking her, asking them. What exactly is he saying?

"Sir?"

Folding both arms across his chest, he glances at Castle before returning to her, and if it wasn't for the weight contained within his look, she would turn to her partner for help, for support.

"I've been turning a blind eye for months. The looks between the two of you, the way you avoid touching to the point of being obvious, the arriving and departing at the same time."

He shakes his head and shame floods her face. They thought they'd been so discrete. "I justified it in my head - that you kept it professional in my precinct, that there were no more incidences of stupidity or breaking the rules of protocol, and that was enough."

"Sir-"

Castle attempts this time, but again, Montgomery's hand lifts, a finger brushing his lips as he demands quiet.

"And I should have realized when I saw this case on your murder board that this was asking for trouble. I'm well aware of both your pasts, yet, I'd hoped you'd be able to help each other when cases like this came up. Ones that hit too close to home."

He chuckles, but there's no humor in his eyes, no joy, and her teeth draw her bottom lip into her mouth, her anxiety increasing as she abuses the tender flesh. She should have managed the case better, should have stopped their involvement. They wouldn't be here if she had been a better partner.

* * *

Bending forward, Montgomery places his elbows back on the desk, eyes dropping as he inspects the surface, and Castle squeezes his lips together. The need to justify their behavior, to throw himself on his sword is pushing against the inner surface of his mouth, but his captain had asked for silence and he will hold on to his words. For now.

"If it were just me. If it had only been me…" Montgomery huffs, and as his eyes cloud over, he casts his attention back to the two of them. "The situation was already bad enough- that I was forced to react after hearing about your run in with Esposito."

Castle withstands the worst of Montgomery's glare, and he stiffens his shoulders, takes responsibility for what he had done. He snapped, let little comments pile high until the shaky tower of events had collapsed in a heap.

"But the fact that the Chief of Detectives, a man that is aware of your partnership, who knows who you are due to your exceptional record of late..." Their captain's head shakes, and Castle braces for the impact. This is a worst-case scenario predicament.

"I can't just back away and pretend I didn't see the clear breach of this precinct's rules."

The walls that had been shrinking finally draw in to the point where Castle is positive that they are now standing inside a shoebox, a shoebox that is about to be picked up, shaken and then thrown into the trash can, worthless.

He did this to Kate's career, to her reputation. Destroyed it. How is he ever supposed to be able to look at her again without seeing all that he has done written within the lines of her face?

Yet, as he stands amid this disaster, the skin on his smallest finger registers a touch. Her touch. It's not quite there, a ghost of heat that comes and goes, and it leaves him cursing his imagination, because surely this is in his mind. She wouldn't be reaching for him; she wouldn't be searching for him amongst the rubble… would she?

There it is again, this time the warmth of her skin encompasses his hand, her fingers sliding between his last two, and, wrapping herself around his little finger, she grips tight.

She is there.

"The choices are this. I split you up, assign you new partners within homicide and you swear to me that this ends- whatever you have, it finishes here and now."

Something heavy passes between Beckett and Montgomery, a look filled with a past that he had no part of. She was here from the beginning, has a debt to the man before them, and if Beckett were to say that it was over? It would be over.

"Your other option is that Castle is reassigned to a new precinct, and I will pull as many strings as I can to keep you close."

Montgomery smiles softly, and the plea in his brown eyes is clear as he stares at Castle.

Take this. Move on professionally.

That way, all the hard work, all the growth that he had made personally won't be for nothing.

The hole that was his heart was filled not so much by Kate, but because she stood by his side, encouraged him to be more than his past.

He's more than that now.

And suddenly there's no choice to be made, because he knows his next move as if it's been staring him in the face all along.

* * *

No. No this can't be it.

Kate's body trembles at the options, at what they are being asked.

Keeping their partnership intact wasn't even listed, and Montgomery's options are as transparent as glass. Let Castle go to another precinct because at least they will still have each other, even if it's only during their nights and days off.

Not having him at all isn't up for debate. To see him in the corridors, to occasionally work side by side and for that to be the extent of it would leave her hollow. She's experienced what it is to live, to blossom and break free of the shadows. She was wilting away, unable to thrive and grow, until, with tentative hands Rick removed the wall brick by brick allowing the sun in.

Tugging on his finger, Kate pulls him toward her, and he, of course, reads her easily. He turns into her, his chest flush against her shoulder. The buckle of his jeans digs into her hand. They remain entangled, together, and, as he wedges their joined fist between her hips and his, he moves his head closer.

"It'll be okay, Kate." His lips brush high along her cheekbone, lingering for a moment, but the panic that was coiled in her abdomen un-spirals, travels up her throat, stealing any response.

Oh. God. What is he doing?

He edges away, and her head whips around. Facing him, she watches, stunned, as he lets her go, takes the step needed to stand front and center at Montgomery's desk. Her breath is nothing more than short, sharp rasps, as a chill descends, freezing this moment.

If ever she were having an out of body experience this would be it. She can't talk. Can't move.

She desperately has to stop whatever he's about to do.

She can't let him go.

Castle pulls his Glock from his holster, unclips the badge from his belt, and laying them on the wooden surface of Montgomery's desk, he lets them go.

No. Not this.

The first time he stepped foot in the precinct she'd snatched his badge from his belt, unable to fathom sharing a work place with him; he was never meant to be here, it was always meant to be a one time thing. Until it wasn't. And now, the thought of him anywhere but by her side is unthinkable.

The muscles in her hands ignore her mind's instructions. Her fingers should be picking up the items, returning them to where they belong. On her partner. On Castle.

Offering a slight hitch of his mouth, a smile that she can't read, he pivots, walks to the door, opens and exits. She's standing here, watching it all unfold, watching him leave, disappear from her sight.

Why is she still standing here?

"Kate."

The distant voice of Montgomery, barely registers over the rush of blood and fear that is flooding her system, engulfing her, until she is sure that she is drowning.

Oh. God. Move.

"Kate."

It's his hand on her shoulder that finally anchors her, brings her back to the office, and a shudder rocks through her. Stumbling away, her eyes blindly search the room. He's not here, Rick's gone, he's quit, and her mind and body become one again.

Dashing through the open door, she runs after him.

Even if she's too late, she has to try.

* * *

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Thank you to each and everyone that has reviewed, to go past 1000 was such an amazing milestone, and the joy and gratitude that has me grinning wildly hasn't diminished in the slightest! Much love xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for being there for every step xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo (One more and a Epilogue to go)


	17. What was lost

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Seventeen - What was lost**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Kate shuts the door of her apartment with a bang, and, so much heavier under the defeat of the last few hours, she falls against the wooden surface. The failure of not being able to find Rick at his studio sublet, at the cafés that they go to on their lazy days, at any of the other random places that they love, has become a weighted blanket laced with spikes.

Each disappointment had the razor sharp needles sinking further into her skin until she was left with no strength to continue, no other options to search, and, with nowhere to go, she'd returned home - alone.

Not even Ryan's phone call informing her that their case was now closed had helped. Mrs. O'Connor had confessed to shooting her nanny in a jealous rage before hiding her daughter with her parents, and it's just another family destroyed, more lives ruined.

Shuffling toward the kitchen, each echoing step mocks her, laughs at the fact that she is here by herself. He'd fled the precinct, had resigned, had left her with nothing more than an, "It'll be okay, Kate".

She can't see how.

Her gaze lands on a pair of his shoes lying crooked by the bookcase, yesterday's jeans half falling off the back of the couch, and as her fingers reach for the denim, she spots the small desk that they often share.

It's gone.

The black laptop upon which he has spent hour after hour has disappeared from its resting place. It's never been just a device for him though; he's been hunched over the keyboard in recent months, late nights, early mornings, pouring himself onto page after page, and now…

He's been here, and has taken it with him - the only thing that would matter to him.

He's gone.

Grabbing at the nearest surface, Kate holds herself up, tries to, but her knees buckle under the insecurities. Self-doubts that were forgotten within his arms are rushing back in his absence. She'd found someone who could empathize with her past, who understood and accepted her life as a detective. She found love and now it's all breaking apart.

Partnership. Relationship. Them.

The thin sound of metal meeting metal in the outside hall is impossibly loud but she can't quite recognize the sound; is it his key in the lock or does she just want it to be? Her hand automatically palms the Glock that's resting in its holster and she straightens in response.

Creaking as it opens, the door slowly reveals all that she'd hoped for, and she re-secures her weapon.

"Hi, Kate."

The expression on her face must reflect the disbelief, the concern, and the heart stopping fear that is leaving her mind blank, almost unable to form thought let alone speech.

He's here, in front of her. Why?

"You quit."

It's not the first thing that should be exiting her mouth, probably not even in the top ten, but the statement is hanging between them now, all hard edges and cracked center. The image of him placing his gun and badge on Montgomery's desk will haunt the inner depths of her psyche for far too long.

She failed him.

"I want you to see this."

A shy grin is plastered across his face, his hands unsteady, and she's having a hard time reconciling the smiling man in front of her with the uncertainty that's plagued her since they were caught kissing in the precinct corridor.

The thick wad of papers that he's gripping snags her attention and she angles her head sideways. Her guilt is smothered with curiosity as she divides her stare between the white ream and his eyes. They're cloudy, his body leaning slightly to the left, and his right hand flutters like butterfly wings against his pants. Oh, he's nervous.

Of her?

Rick shuffles across the room until they are standing toe to toe and together they stay, eyes locked until the quiet is too much. She drops her head forward, reads the two-worded title sitting proudly bolded on the front page.

_Heat Wave. _

* * *

"I don't understand. Rick?" Kate's hand lifts, a finger tracing back and forth across the title of the manuscript, and his explanation wedges itself inside his throat at the sight of her so close to his story.

"I've been writing."

She laughs at that, a breathless puff of air that brushes his skin, and a smile tugs at his lips. Of course she knows that he's been writing, he's hardly been keeping it a secret, but the words have been for him only. At least until now.

"I still don't understand why you resigned; we should have talked about it. Found another alternative-"

Pushing forward, the pages cutting hard into his abdomen, he brings himself flush with Kate, interrupts her effort to grasp at straws by sliding his lips across hers. It does the most amazing things to his heart just to hear that she would try, that she would fight for their partnership, even if it were all in vain. His mouth opens, draws her lower lip in, and raking his bottom teeth against her flesh, the taste of their future is proof enough that he made the right choice.

The only choice.

Letting go of this, them, was never going to happen.

Slowly she slants away, her eyes pleading for an explanation, and he nods in return. Bringing the paper up to his chest with his left hand, the fingers of his right encircle her wrist and he leads them to the sofa so they can sit.

He can do this.

"I became a detective because of what I lost." His body sinks back into the cushions behind him as the images of those dark days rush forth. "And, as a cop, I could work to get justice for someone else."

It had been the challenge, the sense of satisfaction that had kept him putting one foot in front of the other. There had been no words with which he could make sense of the world. No story formed where good triumphed over evil, at least until now, and his hand tremors at what he carefully holds.

He has a part of what was lost right here. It's not just plots and dialogue; he's created a journey. More importantly, with Kate by his side, he's been on one himself. They both have.

Taking _Heat Wave_ from his fingers, Kate places it further down the couch, and, with his hands now empty, he reaches for her. Latching onto her hips, he encourages her to sit, straddled across his lap, her knees wedging tight at his hips.

"But, now?"

He dots the quickest of kisses against her lips, the desire to reconnect overwhelming him, except he has to get through this first, from the past to the future.

"The piece of me that was broken with Alexis' death- that will never be healed." He will never stop missing her, missing the life he'd had; it had all been stolen so easily.

"But, now I'm not so lost. It's not even as clichéd as you completing me. Kate, you've inspired me to open up, allowed me to feel, to dream and hope." Cupping the sides of her jaw, his thumbs trace back and forth across her cheeks as they flush pink. "Most of all, you freed me so I could love."

The joy in her face spreads as her expression transforms into a radiant glow, each line and curve coming alight as the words from his heart appear to ignite hers.

Yet, as time moves slowly, her lack of response smothers the joy, his hands drop, fingers digging into the material of his pants as his worry flares.

So much silence.

Until she shatters it; not shards of glass shattering, no. This is fireworks and champagne bubbles bursting into his day.

"I love you, too."

* * *

The words leave her lips in a rush. And all the anxiety that had plagued her leaves just as quickly. There is no more reason to stress over what happens tomorrow, because they have each other, and if she has to go back to working without him, she will do it gladly. The knowledge that he will be by her side in every other way will be more than enough to sustain her.

"I'm going to miss having you as my partner. But for this, for us, I can be happy." Running her fingers past his elbows, she grips the hard muscle of his biceps, her hips rocking forward. "We'll make this work, okay? Come home to each other at the end of the day. Talk about what we did like normal couples."

His head dips, a smirk dancing in the corner of his lips as his hands slide over her thighs, past her hips to palm her rear through her pants and she shudders under his touch.

"They do say absence makes something grow harder, Kate."

Chuckling, she lays her forehead against his. The tightening in her abdomen tangles with the increase in her heartbeat and it leaves her aching, the anticipation of being so close to him flooding her system. "Heart grow fonder. You're mixing things up there."

"I don't know. Feels right to me." He twists them, silent laughter shaking their shoulders, and he pushes her flat onto the sofa, the cushion molding against her spine. Above her, he looks down and the clear blue in his eyes steals the remaining breath from her chest, his certainty over them makes her just as sure.

They will be okay. Better than that - they will be amazing. Together. Extraordinary.

Reaching forward, her fingers dart from button to button of his shirt until she's released the two joined halves, and pulling back, Rick sits on his heels. He removes it the rest of the way, his bare chest taking all her attention until he tosses the material toward her. It covers her face, and, laughing, she pushes it off and onto the sofa.

It's then that her hand connects with the manuscript she'd placed further along the seat.

"Tell me about your story?"

Rick looks up from where he'd been working on her buttons, surprise creasing his features before her question makes its way through the haze of desire. It's a little mean of her to be asking him to think at a time like this, but suddenly the 'what' that surrounds his writing becomes urgent.

"It's about you."

She startles, elbows sliding behind her as she propels herself up.

What in the world could he mean by that?

"It's about a female homicide detective. She's really smart, haunting good looks, really good at her job." Leaning into her, he urges her back down, and she complies, narrowing her eyes. The idea of a story about her is raising red flags, but his mouth latches onto the arch of her collarbone, his teeth scraping across her skin and any protest is drowned out by the moan that slips past her lips.

But with this little bit of information comes the need to hear more.

"Does she have a love interest? Do they meet through a one night stand?"

How fine is the line between fact and fiction? Then again, does it matter?

Refocusing on the task at hand, her fingers wiggle down, squeezing between their bodies, until the top edge of his pants is under her thumb.

"There's a reporter that follows her around, he helps her solve crimes." His pelvis knocks into her hands, his voice a rushed breath, as she pops the button free, her fingers latching onto the zipper tab. "Oh. There is a sex scene between them after a night of tequila, so, they're kind of slutty."

That bastard.

Tugging the zipper down with more force than she'd normally apply, her fingers hit the hard edge of him straining to be free. The idea of torturing him for his comment sounds all too enjoyable at the moment until the subtext of his words claws through the haze that is her mind.

"It's about us?"

The trail of open mouth kisses he places up her neck, across her cheek, leaves her swallowing thickly on the emotions rushing to break free, and, as he rests his forehead against hers, he clarifies. "Kind of. They struggle against themselves. Against their pasts, what they want for their future." A tear forms in the corner of her eye as his explanation hits so close to her heart. It is them. They'd struggled, fought to deny what had once been so overwhelming, and it was weeks before they'd taken a chance on them. Months to see what was right there.

A kindred spirit who was walking a similar journey.

"It's not an easy road for them, Kate. They'll turn away from each other. But eventually they'll realize what's in front of them."

The tear breaks free, skates along her skin, but Rick inches closer, stopping its movements with his lips.

"I know that they'll realize one day, Rick, that they have everything they need. That they can work out the details as long as they have each other. Someone there to stand side by side with."

Rick traces the edge of her nose before pulling himself higher on to his elbows, and looking down at her, he smiles, his face illuminating with the love she's sure is reflected in her own features.

"They do. They have each other."

* * *

Epilogue to follow... soon

* * *

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Thank you for all the beautiful words that you said in your reviews, I just floating so high in the sky with your support xoxo

And my apologies again for not getting back to you over this last week.

If anyone finds a way for me to sleep less and be a functioning human, I need to hear about it, please!

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for all your work and flails that keep me going xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


	18. Righting the wrong

**.**

**A one time thing**

**Chapter Eighteen - Righting the wrong**

**.**

If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.

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* * *

Beckett drags her gaze away from the murder board to scan the bullpen. Her vacant stare slides past Esposito and Ryan at their desks, practicing their own version of time wasting, and as she continues taking in the room, Castle's chair comes into focus. It's been empty now for five weeks, and while Montgomery, thankfully, hasn't filled the position of her partner - it will always be his in her heart - the ache that comes with not seeing his face across from hers hasn't diminished as each day blurs into the next.

"Kate."

Her head jerks up, her body twisting, and standing, her cheeks warm with the single word.

She's conjured the man in question.

"Hey, Rick."

Stepping around her desk, she meets him in the middle of the room. Her fingers glide between his, find their way into the grooves that are hers alone, and rocking back a fraction, she tugs on his hand. His presence makes her giddy in spite of the second glances from those around them.

"How'd the meeting go?"

The breathlessness that comes out isn't at all what she was aiming for.

He's been placing so much pressure on himself, on what happens next if today's meeting is unsuccessful, and she's been trying not to add to it. Her main focus has been on being a pillar of strength by his side, a yang to his yin and it meant keeping all of her emotions locked within chains, but now that he's here they're all breaking free of its constraints.

"It was-"

"Yo. Watcha doing here, bro?"

Espo's interruption cuts across Rick's answer and she could easily fling herself onto the floor and weep. Now is not the time. Her question requires an answer.

"Hey. I've been out and about with meetings all morning and thought I'd drop in and see if someone is free for lunch." Castle finishes with an extravagant wink, and as Ryan joins Espo before them, the younger detective grins.

"Awww, sweet. But I already ate."

"That's okay, Ryan, Espo here is always ready for a second meal, right?"

All three boys laugh at their joke, and Beckett hides the curve of her lips into Rick's bicep, her forehead resting against the material of his shirt until their chuckling dies down.

"Okay. Seriously, how did it go today?"

Both Espo and Ryan wear matching expressions of curiosity, and while dragging Rick into the break room is the smarter option, his body is unmoving, the muscles of his hand relaxed within her grip.

This is all positive. Surely, it means that he's got good news.

"Did Kate tell you I had a meeting with Black Pawn today?"

The partners shake their head in unison, their actions comical, and normally she'd be having a go at their behavior, but not today. Today has too much riding on it.

Ryan twists his head, blue eyes glinting mischievously as he looks at Espo. "Black Pawn is a publishing company. They make books. Books are things we read and are written by authors, like Castle."

His smart-ass remarks have Esposito taking a halfhearted swing at his head, and ducking easily, Ryan refocuses on Castle.

The easygoing vibe continues to roll off Rick, his expression light as he smiles at the bickering pair. There are no secrets between the four of them now. Not since he'd resigned. It had fallen to her to explain to the rest of the team why he wouldn't be coming back, and with Rick's permission, she'd filled in the gaps.

She has no idea if they've ever spoken to him about it, but it hardly matters, the times that they've gone out for drinks, had the odd poker night, or even lunch as a group, there has been nothing but friendship between them.

Castle will remain a part of their team, even if he's no longer a part of the NYPD.

"So I had a meeting with them about the new book."

"_Ohhhh_, the one about the slutty detective?" Esposito's question is purposely antagonistic, his smirk matching the glee in his eyes and in spite of her better judgment, she rises to the bait.

"Nikki Heat isn't slutty."

The boys don't need to know about the three-day argument that had broken out when she'd discovered her 'character's' name or the desperate forms of persuasion she'd applied to convince Rick that he should change it.

Who would ever have guessed that not even cracking their 'so many times in one night that I can't walk straight' record could alter it.

"It's a name for a pros-"

Her glare cuts Ryan's word in half and his throat clearly constricts as he swallows the rest of it unsaid. Even if he is right, and she'd protested the exact same thing, he can keep it to himself.

"If you two aren't careful, I'll convince Castle that Ochoa and Raley need to meet an unpleasant end!"

Shaking their heads they make a point of zipping their lips, and with silence from the peanut gallery, Kate squeezes Rick's fingers.

"Did they like Heat Wave?"

"Right, so they read the manuscript and-"

"Castle. To what do we owe this honor?" Montgomery claps a hand to Rick's shoulder as he joins their group, and she groans at yet another interruption.

Seriously, can no one let Rick finish his goddamn sentence?

"He was just telling us if they're going to publish the new book. So are they?"

* * *

Rick's gaze travels from Montgomery, to the boys, before landing on Kate. Her fingers are locked tight between his, her expression a controlled mixture of hope, concern, and optimism - although now there's also a flicker of irritation and his cheeks pull, his grin widening.

The joy that bursts in bright rays from where his heart sits could take the place of the sun. She's been walking on eggshells since he'd dropped off the manuscript and organized for a meeting, navigating between encouragement and not putting too much emphasis on it needing to be successful. "There are other publishing houses out there." And talking up what he'd written, "Always knew your mind was a brilliant, dark and twisty place."

He will forever be indebted to the powers that be that had caused him to stumble upon her amongst the sweaty haze of people inside the club that night, nearly a year ago, and grateful that what was supposed to just be a one time thing turned into an attraction that they couldn't ignore.

That the electricity between them blossomed with time into a love that has given them a future full of possibilities.

It's all for the taking as they stand side by side together.

"So, after much thought. And discussion." Rick turns to face Kate, his free hand finding hers so he can hold onto all ten fingers, and he leans forward, lowering his voice. "They're overjoyed that I'm writing again, and look forward to publishing Heat Wave."

She doesn't squeal, Kate Beckett never would, but the noise that rushes into him is close enough, and letting go of her hands, he wraps his arms around her hips. Encompassing her completely, he infuses all he can into the hug, instills in her all the emotions that he's been keeping a lid on until this moment. The happiness that is zipping through his system since he'd heard the news has every strand of hair standing on end, every nerve ending twitching at the excitement.

Her arms lift high, and curling around his neck, her fingers tangle in his hair, her mouth hard against his ear. "I'm so proud of you, Rick."

It's not just words from her, or pleasantries. She was the inspiration that had sparked the itch inside his fingers, had planted the first seed of a story, and throughout the journey, she's been his muse, ensuring that the next sentence escapes onto the page. She's witnessed it all, has experienced the hard work by being there for the aftermath, has plied him full of coffee just so he could make it to the end of the day.

"Thank you, Kate."

Nuzzling into the angle of her shoulder, he places kiss after kiss against her skin where her long brown curls hide his actions, and he attempts to impart what his words lack.

Thank you is nowhere near enough. Doesn't even come close to explaining what he feels for her, for what she has done, but it is all he has.

He'll make up for it tonight. Will whisper all the ways he loves her, all the ways he is thankful, against her skin as he worships her body, stoking the ever-burning flame that is alight between them, until words are no longer required.

Their souls will do the talking.

* * *

It's only when Rick pulls away from her that the sound of clapping registers. The boys and Montgomery stand tall, matching smiles adorning each of their faces as they applaud the good news and a flush of heat surges across her skin, her head ducking down.

Damn them.

It's the one aspect of their _togetherness _that she still isn't comfortable with. They'd hidden their relationship for so many months that to conceal is still second nature, but there is no need, and she straightens her shoulders, faces them.

They really are happy for Rick and he deserves all the praise.

He's worked so very hard for this, pushed past self-doubt, the memories of the past, the worry for the future, to put it all on the page.

"Thanks, guys." Rick steps away from her, accepts the back slaps and shoulder knocks as they congratulate him, before he comes back to her side, his hand settling onto her hip as his arm crosses her back. "I thought if you're still treading water with your case, we could go out for lunch to celebrate?"

Glancing down at her, his gaze doesn't linger, traveling instead to the murder board. They'd discussed the case last night while they'd prepared his pasta carbonara, and unfortunately, there is nothing new to add except Lanie's autopsy results.

"Sounds good. All we have on our Jane Doe are the four numbers that she'd written on her hand."

He drifts to the murder board, habit no doubt still ingrained deep, and lifting a finger, he traces the picture of their victim's hand, the faded numbers that Lanie had highlighted standing out brightly.

"Have you had a missing person's report from a fiancé or husband?"

Shaking her head at his question, she moves to his side, attempts to see what he does, and as his thumb slides across the victim's fourth finger, it becomes as clear as day.

"She's missing a ring." They'd been so focused on the numbers that the tan line completely slipped under their radar, and bumping her shoulder into his, she offers her silent thanks.

"Geez, Castle. You could be a detective." Esposito chuckles as he approaches, but his stride stumbles under her glare, his mouth contorting.

"Too soon, dude." Castle volleys back, humor lacing his words, even if she is sure that it's a mask to hide the pain.

It will forever be too soon for that joke; just because she's happy - thrilled - that new doors are opening, they're both still mourning what they lost.

"It's a good catch though, Castle." Coming closer, Montgomery's head tilts, deep thoughts clouding his normally bright eyes, and Kate's eyes draw together at his expression. "You know, this character in your book - the journalist that follows the detectives around - that's happened before. A while back, there was a civilian consultant over at the fifty-fourth. Ex-marine with connections and too much time on his hands."

Her heart thumps wild, thrashes against her ribs until she is sure that they're going to crack under the pressure, while hope surges, a wave that crashes over her and for a fraction of a second, the noise inside her ears is all that there is.

He could come back…

"Sir?"

Ever respectful, Castle stands still beside her, eyes locked on her captain, and it takes all she has not to reach for his hand where it curls slowly between them.

"There'd be no pay, waivers would need signing, and there are rules about work place behavior." Montgomery smirks as he glances between them and she shuffles sideways, creates an extra inch between herself and Castle. "And I'd have to speak to the Mayor. Ain't no one happy unless he is. But I know he was a fan of your work, or at least your closure rate, so I can't see any issue."

Her heart well and truly explodes. Bursts into tiny pieces of glorious glitter at the notion that she would have her partner back, by her side where he belongs.

"I- That-" Flickering between Montgomery and her, Castle appears unable to work out where to look, but as the stunned expression morphs into pure joy, he stops on their captain.

"I can't think of anywhere else I would rather be than here, as a part of this team. To be Beckett's partner again."

There is nowhere else he should be, either.

* * *

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This is where I get all teary. Thank you, the response, the _support_, for this story was truly amazing and left me squealing and dancing, but mainly very speechless that the characters, even with the AU changes, were loved. It left me feeling just as loved xoxo

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I start posting my first ficathon entry on our first Castleless Monday (will be rated M ;-) Hope you join me on the next wild ride!

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie, there really are no words that describe your awesomeness xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo


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